


Two Week Fold

by surveycorpsjean



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Dating, Gambling, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-07-18 20:12:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7329175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surveycorpsjean/pseuds/surveycorpsjean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsukishima is a blackjack dealer in Las Vegas.</p>
<p>A gorgeously rich businessman keeps stopping by his table- cat eyes so dark, swirls of interest dragging where ever they look.</p>
<p>"I need something pretty to take with me to the match." He purrs, "And you certainly are pretty."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo here's the project i've been working on,, i've always wanted to do something with my extensive knowledge of vegas lmao

Las Vegas, Nevada.

A paradise in hell, truly.

Nothing should technically survive here; 120 degrees in the summer, 25 in the winter. Yet, the city lives on, bustling, living, ever so busy, a twenty-four-hour life.

At least, on the strip, it is. The strip; a four mile stretch of hotels filled with gambling and sin. The civilians in the suburbs grumble about their days, the true highlight of their year being IKEA’s grand opening in May.

But for those who work the nightlife- for those who commute into casinos and hotels for a living – this is their life, a life of cigar smoke, roulette wheels, and slurred tourists who think they can beat the house.

Tsukishima is over it, honestly, but he’s been through dealer school, and he’s not about to give up now.

There's an especially obnoxious couple at his table; a guy who’s had pretty good luck, so far. He’s growing more and more confident – slowly betting more and more chips every turn.

Tsukishima shows his two cards, one face down, and one up, hands clean, nothing up his sleeve. It’s an eight. The man grins and bets double- the sly bastard.

Tsukishima looks up through half lidded eyes, and flips his card. An ace, it seems.

Blackjack is a pretty easy game; don’t bust over twenty-one, and don’t be lower than the house.

“ _Fuck!_ ” The guy grits, and throws down his cards.

_Seventeen._

Tsukishima says nothing, only waiting with a knowing half-hearted smile as the man shoves over all his chips.

Fools. The house _always_ wins.

Now, the house doesn’t cheat, of course – but gambling is what it is. There’s a reason it’s illegal pretty much everywhere else; it’s _addicting._

Just as you grow confident – just as you think _wow, I’m lucky tonight, maybe I’ll win big –_ that’s when you lose. Those posterchilds, the men and women on billboards shouting _I won 1 mil! –_ nothing but a gag.

Tsukishima knows this, of course, hands tucked neatly behind his back, scowling as the couple leaves without a tip for his hour. He sighs, his suit growing hot under the lights, quite ready to leave, already. There’s an ache in his back, and the music from the bar around the corner pounds louder than the slot machines. It smells like smoke, and alcohol, and everything sinful.

He watches a parade of young girls, sopping in swimsuits, make their way through the casino, back from the wavepool. They look none older than sixteen; but still they attract drunken eyes, and slurred words from men hanging off the slot machines.

Tsukishima frowns.

* * *

 

He’s is barely fifteen minutes away from the end of his shift when Tsukishima sees _him_ for the first time.

Who is _he_ exactly?

Well, Tsukishima isn’t quite sure. He does know, however, that this guy is probably the most attractive person to approach his table all night.

Pressed suit, dark, messy hair, playboy philanthropist aura; his eyes, especially, are attractive. They’re swirly and dark, and Tsukishima meets them for one single moment, before he can’t look any longer.

Goddamn, he’s a work of art; Tsukishima is confident enough to say that, if given the opportunity, he’d ride that into the next century.

Ah, but, Tsukishima knows his type – the rich, egoistical moneywasters that gamble half their wealth away and barely bat an eyelash. They’re usually out for a quick fuck- which, given, Tsukishima isn’t always against, but his shift ends in now… uh, ten? Minutes? So, he’s not exactly in the mood to meet this guy’s sex eyes.

He nods a hello to the man, and prepares to deal him in. A kind-looking lady approaches the table as well, hanging off the arm of another man. Tsukishima deals them in too. 

“Are all bets in?” He calls, looking between the guests. He makes the mistake of looking to that man- dark, tall, and handsome. He’s a tad shorter than Tsukishima, he can tell, but he holds himself confidently, shoulders squared, mouth pulled into a resting smirk.

“I’m drawing.” The lady says, and pulls another card. After a moment she lets out a grunt, and flips her cards- she busted immediately. Her lover stays, as does the man with the dark hair.

Tsukishima blinks back down to his cards, and flips it; lucky, it’s a twenty.

“Ahh, damn.” The other guest flips his card; eighteen. However, the mystery man smiles, and flips his card; a queen, and a ten.

“A draw.” Tsukishima states. The man smiles, and hands over his cards, waiting to be dealt in again. Tsukishima, for whatever reason, in all his years of dealing, hasn’t felt this nervous. It’s not like _he_ has anything riding on this game – but, there’s something about the extensive heat of his eyes that makes Tsukishima’s palms sweat.

He deals in again. They place bets.

Tsukishima has a 4. The man grins and doubles his bet – not a good sign for the house. Tsukishima flips his card, and he ends at a 15.

“Ahh.” The man smiles, and shows his cards; a nice 17.

“Congratulations.” Tsukishima nods. He opens his mouth to say something more, but he can already see his coworker approaching to relieve him. “Ah,” He blinks, and turns to the quests, “It was lovely playing with you, but my shift is over. My coworker Yachi will take care of you.”

“Good evening!” She smiles.

The man, dark suit, dark eyes, dark hair- he stares after him with a soft, seemingly knowing smile. It sets Tsukishima on edge a little. It’s best to just go home.

He turns to leave, but a hand catches his wrist.

“Wait.” That man smiles, body relaxed, like water. “Thank you for hosting. Let me shake your hand.”

Tsukishima pauses, the word _why?_ on his tongue, but the man merely let’s go of his wrist, and holds out his hand. Tsukishima blinks at it, nearly scowls, but does shake his hand.

“Have a good evening, sir.”

Tsukishima pulls back his hand, but startles at the feeling of fingers pressing into his palm. He looks to his hand- there’s a card placed neatly between his fingers. The man tips his head and smiles, just as gentlemanly as ever, and says a goodbye, before twisting on his heel, back to the blackjack table.

Tsukishima stares at the business card.

It’s black, with simple white writing.

_Kuroo Tetsurou._

* * *

 

That whole, whatever that was- yesterday was strange, but Tsukishima brushes it off like lint. Boy, that is _not_ the weirdest thing he’s seen. There was totally this one lady that upchucked on the blackjack table- and _another_ instance where this guy tried following Tsukishima home –

Security is his friend, at this point.

Kuroo.

Tsukishima feels like he might know that name – but it’s not like he cares all too much. He’s dealt to Usher and Rihanna before; some young bigshot is just another name. He might’ve been a good fuck, maybe, but the _last_ guest he slept with wasn’t all too great, so, he’s cutting himself off for a while.

However, that man comes back.

Tsukishima is a few hours in; he’s only dealt with one angry customer- _no, the house does not cheat –_ but so far, it hasn’t been unpleasant.

But that man shows up at his table; _Kuroo._

“Good evening.” He smiles, taking a seat, setting his beer against the edge.

“Hello…” Tsukishima begins slowly, eyes turning down to his deck. “Welcome back.”

“Ah, I couldn’t help it.” Kuroo smiles, “I’m a good gambler.”

“Is that right?” Tsukishima deals him in.

“Yeah.” He smiles, “I took a chance that you worked today.”

Oh.

_Stalker._ Tsukishima thinks, but eyes him playfully. The man only grins, and takes his cards.

They play for a solid hour; Kuroo wins, then loses, then wins again- his luck isn’t too bad. He knows when to fold; knows when to bet more, and less, and does the math fairly well than the other bumbly drunk tourists that fumble in.

Guests come and go, but Kuroo stays- he keeps his eye, making small conversation.

Fuck, he’s really hot, and needs to _leave_ before Tsukishima’s tongue loosens.

“So I assume blackjack is your favorite, then.” Tsukishima says, as a couple leaves, and Kuroo stays.

“Mmm, it didn’t use to be.” Kuroo looks up and grins- Tsukishima isn’t sure if the feeling in his stomach is gas, or something pathetically mushy.

Kuroo does, eventually, leave, taking his player card with him, as well as his glass. Ah, but he does extend his hand, and smile, “I never caught your name.”

Tsukishima eyes his hand; his fingers are long, and slender, all warm skin leading up to his forearms, where his suit jacket is folded up at the valley of his elbow.

He decides to shake his hand, “Tsukishima Kei.”

“It was lovely playing with you.” Kuroo coos, and then turns on his heel, and saunters away.

* * *

 

Tsukishima’s apartment isn’t much, but it’s home.

His bed is warm, too warm, maybe, for this hellish summer, so he sprawls over the worn couch half-naked and sighs.

Pure, unadulterated curiosity draws him to lean over the edge of the couch and pick out the card in the back pocket of his crumbled up work pants. The card is a little dented, but the name still reads _Kuroo Tetsurou._

There’s no number, no occupation, no email; nothing _._

_What kind of egoistical bastard prints just his name on a business card?_

Tsukishima thumbs it over once, and then twice. He runs his finger across the edge of the card and sighs.

He shouldn’t pry like this, but he can’t help it. He pulls out his laptop, settling it on a pillow atop his thighs, and googles the name.

The first thing that pops up is an array of articles.

_“Tetsurou Kuroo opens children’s hospital!”_

_“Millionaire set to appear at New York Fashion Week.”_

_“Click here: Kuroo Tetsurou at the red carpet Oscars.”_

Tsukishima raises an eyebrow, and thumbs through them all. He clicks on google images – and yep, that is Kuroo, alright. They’re all of him cutting a red ribbon, or smiling with random people at some event.

Tsukishima prods more.

He skims his Wikipedia page- the fucker has his own _Wikipedia page-_ he learns enough to know that Kuroo is roughly loaded enough to buy out Tsukishima’s existence entirely.

* * *

 

When he comes back three days in a row, Tsukishima can’t help it.

It’s two a.m., and Kuroo has been here for _two hours._ Tsukishima isn’t sure if his wallet is eternal, or what, but Tsukishima can’t hold his tongue any longer.

When he’s sure that they’re out of earshot, Tsukishima leans against the table and scowls, rather than dealing Kuroo in again.

“Hm.” Kuroo blinks, “Something wrong, Kei?”

“What are you after?” Tsukishima props his hand on his hip, “You’ve been here three days in a row.”

“Is that bad?” Kuroo flirts.

“ _Yes,_ because you’ve only come to _my_ table.”

“Is that bad?” He repeats, again.

Tsukishima sighs, but does smile, “Look, if you weren’t so fucking hot, I would’ve called security two days ago. What do you want?”

Kuroo’s eyes flicker over- maybe humor, and surprise, but he grins attractively, “Ah, I’ve been found out, have I?”

“Should I call security, then?”

“No, no.” Kuroo laughs. He draws his finger against the edge of the table, and looks up through his eyelashes, “As you know, the fights are this weekend.”

“Yeah.” Tsukishima crosses his arms. He certainly knows- fight weekends are hell.

“Well, I need something pretty to take with me to the match.” Kuroo purrs, “And you _certainly_ are pretty.”

Tsukishima’s brain short circuits for a moment, before he retorts, “Like I don’t know that?”

Kuroo grins, and leans his head in his hand, “I’ll pay for your seat. I’ll even send a limo for you.”

“What benefit is there of taking me to a match?” Tsukishima crosses his arms, “There isn’t anything for you to gain.”

“I just need a date, is all.” He coos.

“You’re assuming I like wrestling?” Tsukishima raises an eyebrow, “What makes you think I like to watch some sweaty, musclehead morons punch each other in the face for two hours?”

There’s something that glimmers in Kuroo’s eyes again; doubt, this time, maybe. “You don’t?”

But Tsukishima smirks, “Well, of course I fucking do, but that’s beside the point.”

Kuroo blinks, before he laughs, back straightening, dimples popping up from his smile.  “I like the tongue on you.”

Tsukishima leans against the table, and stares at him through hooded eyes. He really should say no- he’s not sure if this guy is anything but trouble, but…

Kuroo could take _literally anyone_ to this match. He has a fucking Wikipedia page, for fucks sake- and he’s here, coming by Tsukishima’s table, batting his eyelashes like a school girl.

Ahh, fuck it- both figuratively, and literally.

“I work tomorrow.” Tsukishima eventually says.

“Give me one phone call to your boss.” Kuroo smirks.

And that’s that.

* * *

 That night, Tsukishima has half the mind to be nervous. He’s been on lots, and _lots_ of shitty dates, so it’s not that he has high hopes but-

He’s scared that it might _not_ be shitty.

Tsukishima isn’t all too much of a chance taker. He likes his bubble, and his comfort zone, and disdains spontaneity. However, there’s something appealing about a night in paradise; a date with a hot businessman. 

It’s just _one_ night.

It’s not like Tsukishima will see him again after this.

* * *

 

He dresses in a grey pick stitched suit. It’s tight fitting – Tsukishima’s only tailored suit. His legs are so damn long, he can’t wear anything just off the rack of Men’s Warehouse, or he’ll look like a kid in his dad’s closet.

Tsukishima waits at the corner of the restaurant by his house.

He _sure_ as hell wasn’t going to tell Kuroo where he lived, but- a part of him thinks Kuroo could find out, if he wanted.

The limo shows up; Tsukishima prepares to open the door-

Kuroo steps out.

“Good evening.” He smiles, standing up, tall in his black suit.

Holy motherfucking _Teresa_ he looks fine as all hell. He’s in a relaxed jacket, and a red button up satin shirt. The black tie is the same shade as his suit, and his hair.

“Hey.” Tsukishima blinks, “Thought you were just sending a limo.”

“I wasn’t about to make you ride alone.” Kuroo smiles, and steps in behind him. He shuts the door, and Tsukishima slides into the farthest seat. The limo is lit up in calm mood lighting, music playing, but not too loud.

“Thanks for agreeing to come with me.” Kuroo smiles, settling into the chair, “I would’ve been fucked to show up alone.”

“I have a feeling you wouldn’t.” Tsukishima looks around the limo is it begins to move.

“Ah, but I can hear it now.” Kuroo raises his hands, “ _Millionaire Dateless at Vegas Match._ ”

“Yeah, I googled your name.” Tsukishima crosses his legs, “The media sure does love to suck your dick.”

Kuroo stares at him, for one moment- long enough for Tsukishima to think _fuck, why can’t I control my goddamn mouth for five seconds-_

But Kuroo only laughs, hearty, and a little silly for his stature. He giggles, “You’re completely right.”

“Hm.” Tsukishima tries to look indifferent, but knows his amusement is written all over his face anyways. “Why is this match such a big deal?”

“Ah, well, you see.” Kuroo leans over to the small bar to pour two drinks, “I’ve recently signed on to sponsor a friend.”

“A friend?”

“Bokuto Koutarou.” Kuroo hands him his glass, “A good buddy from high school. He’s gotten into lightweight- I told him I’d support him.”

“How surprisingly human of you.” Tsukishima is hesitant to sip his drink, but does anyways. It’s not bad.

“Hey.” Kuroo laughs, “I don’t know what google might’ve told you, but I’m not a huge dickwad.”

“I guess we’ll see.” Tsukishima flirts- _flirts_ because he can’t help it. Kuroo looks really, really good in that suit, and a part of Tsukishima wants to open his mouth and say every filthy word known to mankind just to see what he’ll do.  Instead he jokes, glancing around the limo, “So, are you old or new money?”

“A little both, haha. Dad’s loaded, but told me I had to work for it.”

“Hm, next you’ll tell me your dad gave you a _small loan of a million dollars.”_

“Topical.” Kuroo laughs, “But no. I worked for him for a while, learning the trade of stock holding, negotiating- I learned how to get what I wanted from people. You know, bat an eyelash, be a little forceful.”

“Hm, I’ve been bamboozled, then.” Tsukishima retorts, and smiles when Kuroo snorts out a laugh.

“I’m sorry.” He grins, in honesty, “I really, _really_ wanted to take you out. You’re absolutely stunning.”

Tsukishima tries stupidly hard not to flush, but he does anyways. He’s heard better compliments from a fortune cookie, but Kuroo looks so goddamn earnest that it hurts.

“You could’ve walked two feet down the hallway and you would’ve been at that strip bar. Why didn’t you court a girl, or something?”

“Because I didn’t want to.” Kuroo coos, “I wanted _you._ I had a very distinct feeling that you’d look fantastic in a pressed suit, and I was right.”

Tsukishima eyes him behind his glasses as he sips, and makes a noncommittal gesture of, “You too.”

* * *

 

The stadium is packed to the brim. They get a special security escort to the reserved seats near the front; the hollering fans in the back are dressed in shorts and t-shirts, but the people near the front are all in elegant gowns and ties.

Ah, well, that’s Vegas for you.

The room is full of life, hooting and hollering. Tsukishima isn’t all that into wrestling, but he _is_ gayer than Adam Lambert in a David’s Bridal, so, it’s bound to be a good time anyways.

Kuroo is a solid mixture of both professional, and gentlemanly. He lets Tsukishima take his seat first before his own, settling in, a resting smile on his face. It sets Tsukishima on edge a little, because surely this guy doesn’t smile _all_ the time.

Tsukishima knows he has resting bitch face – it comes in handy, more times than not.

“Which one is your friend?” Tsukishima asks against the noise.

“Oh, you’ll know him when you see him.” Kuroo grins, “He’s got the worst hair.”

Tsukishima isn’t quite sure what that means – but then the second opponent comes out, raw muscle and firm lines, wild multicolored hair atop his head – and Tsukishima _knows._

“Wow.” Tsukishima says, resting his head in one hand, “You weren’t kidding about the hair.”

Kuroo laughs, “I’m not one to talk, though.”

Tsukishima glances at him out of the corner of his eye. It’s true, Kuroo’s hair is wily, but he pulls it off, unbelievingly so.

“Hm.” Tsukishima looks back, “He’s relatively attractive.”

“Man, he got all the action back in high school.” Kuroo grins, “I had to beat the girls off with a stick.”

“I don’t blame them.” Tsukishima coos, and feels a little smug at the look he receives.

“Hey, no fair.” Kuroo nudges him softly, and says in a joking tone, “You’re _my_ date. I can’t let Bo steal another one.”

He feigns innocence, “Hm? What was that?”

Kuroo only smirks, and settles back into his chair, “Nothing. I sure am good at gambling, though.”

“Why’s that?”

“I took the off chance that you were gayer than hell, and I was right.”

“Ha.” Tsukishima snorts, “That’s not anything impressive. It’s practically written on my forehead.”

“You could pass as straight.”

“Like I’d want to.”

Kuroo lets out another laugh, barely paying attention when the match begins. Tsukishima’s eyes leave, turning to the ring, desperately trying to ignore that he’s actually having fun.

The guy he’s going against, Iwaizumi, Tsukishima thinks his name was, is just as strong and broad as Bokuto.

They deck it out, all heavy swings and rough punches. The crowd rumbles, and shouts – and by the second round, Tsukishima is like, _way_ into it.

“Fuck.” Tsukishima calls, when Bokuto gets smacked to the ground, “Get up!”

“Bo!” Kuroo shouts shamelessly, despite the eyes watching him, “Get up! Get up!”

Bokuto wipes the blood off his nose, and stands, blocking a punch, and swinging again. Tsukishima cheers- _fucking cheers –_ when he gets a good jab in.

The energy in the room is insane. The biggest stick in the mud would have fun here, Tsukishima thinks, because _he_ certainly has a big stick up his ass. He knows it’s there – he’s well aware.

Still, Tsukishima can’t believe he’s having fun. In all honesty, it’s cool to see Kuroo, some rich kid with a big name, hooting and hollering. He’s…less plastic than expected. 

Tsukishima may, or may not be fucked.

* * *

 

He half expects an invite back to some hotel room – actually, Tsukishima isn’t sure _what_ he expects.

But uh, he doesn’t anticipate Kuroo politely taking him home, and walking him up to his door.

No sly moves? No ass grabs? No wandering hands?

Who does this guy think he is, being so damn polite? 

Tsukishima talks to cover the loud beating in his chest, “Don’t be a creep, now that you know where I live.”

Kuroo laughs, “No, no, I promise.”

Tsukishima digs the tip of his shoe into the doormat, and plays with the keys in his pockets, “Um…”

“Thanks again for coming with me.” Kuroo says, as gentlemanly as ever.

“Yeah…it was….” Tsukishima shrugs, “…okay, I guess.” He looks down through his eyelashes, and knows Kuroo sees the joking nature in his eyes.

Kuroo only smiles, and hooks his thumbs in his finely tailored pockets, “Just okay, huh?”

“ _Alright,_ maybe.”

“Well, I thought it was _awesome._ ” Kuroo coos, “ _And_ Bo won, so, a pretty A1 night for me.”

Tsukishima bites down a smirk, and looks down to his shoes, before forcing himself to relax. The words form in his throat – _do you want to come in?-_

But Kuroo shifts his weight and says, “Well, I’d really like to go out with you again, if that’s alright with you.”

“Me?” Tsukishima blurts, “Again?”

“Yeah!” He grins, “Is that cool?”

“Er…how long are you in town for?”

“Two more weeks.” He smiles, “Starting tomorrow.”

He shouldn’t. He really, really, shouldn’t bother with someone that’ll only be in town for _two weeks._

Still, Tsukishima shrugs, “Fine, then. I get off at six tomorrow.”

“Wonderful.” Kuroo smiles, “Text me, and I’ll come by and grab you.”

“W-wait.” Tsukishima huffs, “I don’t have your number.”

“Yes you do.” Kuroo saunters away, waving as he descends down his driveway, “It’s on my card.”

“Your…. _Kuroo._ All that’s on that card is your _fucking name._ ”

“Did you try going for a swim?” Kuroo winks, tips his head, and folds into the limo.

He drives away.

* * *

 

This _fucker._ This piece of shit. What the hell is this _National Treasure_ \- ass bullshit?

Tsukishima runs the business card under the water of the kitchen sink, and watches the card flush from black, to white. As it turns, more words appear- numbers, even.

His phone number.

_555-313-6823_

“Unbelievable.” Tsukishima says aloud, tipping the card up. “Un-fucking believable.”

His cat meows from the next room, and Tsukishima huffs, “I know, Socrates. I know.”

The first text he sends is

_I literally cannot believe you._

He doesn’t have to wait long for a response:

_“dress business casual tmrw <3”_

Bloody hell. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg holy shit thanks for the comments im dead

That damn business card sits on Tsukishima's bedside table. 

It haunts him, stupidly so. 

He can't stop thinking about that date. 

He can't stop thinking of Kuroo. 

* * *

 

 It's a slow day, so far. He woke up late - Tsukishima settled on doing forgotten house chores, and downing coffee. He gets a phone call later that morning; Tsukishima reads the caller I.D., and answers immediately.

“Aye.”

“ _Tsukki!”_ The voice calls, “ _What the hell, man?”_

“What?” Tsukishima balances his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he folds laundry.

“ _Did you see the header on Yahoo?”_

“Goddamn Tadashi, I’m not a forty- five-year-old housewife. Nobody uses Yahoo anymore.”

“ _Okay, well, fuck you, you’re on the header!_ ”

Tsukishima fumbles his phone, “What?”

“ _Go! Go!”_

Tsukishima pats around for his laptop and flips it open – it spurs to life, because Tsukishima hardly ever remembers to turn it off – he goes to the Yahoo page.

Lo and behold, there he is, chillin’ right next to Kuroo Tetsurou, the both of them staring intensively at the match.

Thank goodness there’s no _Mystery Man?!_ articles – Kuroo must go on too may dates for them to care. Instead they cover the match, and the special guests, but still, Tsukishima is there, in his grey suit and blonde hair.

“Woah.”

“ _Tsukki, you have some explaining to do._ ” Yamaguchi calls through the phone. “ _I don’t see you for a week and you’re dating some famous dude?!”_

“It was one date.” Tsukishima explains, “I mean, we’re going out again today, but still-“

“ _I hate you! I literally hate you! I sucked a guy’s dick yesterday because he said he’d buy me a stuffed crust pizza, and here you are, banging a guy who drives a Lambo!”_

“We took his limo thank you.” Tsukishima retorts, “Also a pizza? Really Yams? I thought you were above that.”

“ _Okay, well, he was also super hot but that’s beside the point. I thought I was your friend! Where are you guys going today?”_

“No idea.” Tsukishima begins folding again, “He said business casual.”

“ _You gotta’ milk this. You have to go ask for every expensive thing you ever wanted. You gotta’…you gotta’ charge like 1k for oral, 2k for anal. You gotta’-“_

“I’m not going to do that.” Tsukishima snorts, “He’s probably covering dinner anyways. That’s good enough for me.”

“ _At least tell me you’re gonna’ tap that.”_ Yamaguchi replies, and Tsukishima can tell he’s lying on his back, upside down off his bed.

“I mean, that’s the goal, probably.”

“ _Did you bleach your asshole? Millionaires want bleached assholes._ ”

“I’m hanging up now, Tadashi.”

“ _Wait! Wait! At least keep me updated._ ”

“Yeah, sure.” Tsukishima lies, and grips his phone.

“ _When this is all done, you’re hanging out with me._ ”

“Agreed.” Tsukishima nods, “Bye.”

“Bye~”

He hangs up, and sighs, rubbing a hand across his face.

Tsukishima notices, vaguely, that he’s flushing a little.

* * *

 

Work comes and goes. The guests were lucky today – there were only a few strange instances; a few rowdy people, but nothing too unusual. The cigarette smoke was still there, the slot machines still spun on.

He changes in his car – just into dark jeans, and a nice shirt and jacket. He sends Kuroo a text; all he gets back is _Stratosphere._

 _Great._ Tsukishima thinks, pulling out of the parking spot, running a hand through his hair. He’s pretty sure he knows where this date is going.

When he pulls into valet, Kuroo is waiting there, a few paparazzi around, but made happy through Kuroo’s playful words. The media adores him – Tsukishima can tell, especially from their cameras, and their smiles.

Tsukishima valets his shit car and steps out, hands in his pockets. Kuroo’s face lights up, all attractive lines and dark eyes. He looks good, dammit, once again. Fuck him, and his great sense of style.

“Kei.” He smiles, “You made it here fast.”

“Traffic wasn’t bad.” He answers, “For once.”

“Awesome.” Kuroo grins, “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starved.”

“Perfect. We’re just one, super long elevator ride away.”

Tsukishima blinks, watching as Kuroo holds out his arm. He doesn’t move, and Kuroo gestures with his arm once more.

  _Really? He’s going to make me do this?_

The paparazzi stares on, so Tsukishima looks at them and blinks, gripping Kuroo’s arm, and following him into the hotel.

The Stratosphere is exactly 1,149 feet tall, making it the tallest building in Vegas. The rides at the top attract all kinds of daredevils; from those willing to hang off the edge, or zip line off, even. That was uh, never Tsukishima’s thing. He has a will to live you see.

But there is a restaurant at the top; it’s quite expensive, but rightfully so. The floor spins slowly, allowing you to see the entire valley as you eat. Tsukishima never really had the money, or the friends – they always took to the less expensive malls, and the twenty-four-hour fast food.

When the elevator doors open, Tsukishima tries not to look so impressed. Kuroo tells the waitress their reservation time – the young girl fumbles with the menus, and escorts them to a table. Kuroo holds out his seat, and Tsukishima takes it with a nod.

“Huh.” He looks around – the restaurant spins oh-so slow, but all the Vegas lights are lit.

“Ever been up here?” Kuroo asks, setting his napkin on his lap.

“Nope.”

“You’ve just lived the local life, then.”

“Yeah.” Tsukishima nods, staring out the window, “You been here?”

“I travel to Vegas quite a bit.” He nods, “Lots of business shit to do. We eat out a lot.”

“Mmm.” He nods, and glances down to the menu. It’s all super fancy Italian food – stuff he recognizes, barely. He has a hard time looking away from Kuroo – his _eyes_ dammit, are just so stunning. His hair is slicked back, and it’s such a turn on it hurts. Thank god Tsukishima wore boxer briefs today – at least the tight fabric will strap his dick to his thigh.

Kuroo picks the conversation back up after the waitress leaves – something he’s good at, apparently.

“So, Mr. Local, what do you usually do for fun here?”

“Fun?” Tsukishima snorts, “It’s going to be 115 all week. This isn’t fun.”

“Pff, this is sin city! You at least go out, right?”

“Eh.” He shrugs, fiddling with his champagne, “It’s a flashy city, but it’s pretty dangerous.”

“Ahh.” 

“Mostly just movies. Malls, maybe. Back in high school we used to do laser tag a lot.”

“I had one coworker tell me about the adventure dome.” Kuroo coos, “How’s that?”

“Pretty fun.” Tsukishima shrugs, “But after a few times it gets boring.”

“Mmm, I see.”

“What do you do, when you visit?” Tsukishima tips his head, trying to keep his sex eyes anywhere but on Kuroo’s face.

“Meetings. Fights. Uh, more meetings.” Kuroo laughs, “I gamble sometimes. Drink. The usual.”

“Why are you here for two weeks, then?”

“Ahh.” Kuroo swirls his drink, “Ever heard of the Fontainebleau?”

Tsukishima snorts, “Ha, yeah. That’s the half-built hotel that’s been on the edge of the strip since ’08.”

“Yep.” Kuroo nods, “Went out of business halfway through construction when the economy took a dip.”

“I remember that.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about investing.” Kuroo rubs behind his head- a particularly human gesture, “I’ve seen a few bets on the property, but the work is already half done, and I think it could be big if it just got the boost it needed.”

“Well, it sure would be nice.” Tsukishima fiddles with his glasses, “At least there wouldn’t be a huge half-built mess on the strip.”

“Right?” Kuroo smiles, “It’d be a lot of work, but I’ve never invested in anything so big. I think it would be fun.”

“Fun.” Tsukishima parrots, “Pff, rich kids.”

Kuroo laughs, “Hey, that’s the life of a businessman. Invest and grow, yeah?”

“I guess.” He swirls his drink, “I’ve always had a problem with businessmen though. They chase, and chase, and never seem happy where they are.”

Kuroo blinks; his mouth opens and shuts, before he looks out the window. He blinks back to Tsukishima, and pulls himself together, “That’s quite true.”

“Sorry.” Tsukishima says immediately, his heart taking a small dive, “That came out wrong.”

“No, you’re completely right. It’s easy to get swept up in it all.”

“Don’t answer this if you don’t want to, but…what’s your goal, then?” 

“I guess…I’m looking for fulfilment.” Kuroo admits, “Something to do with my money.”

“It seems lonely.”

“It can be.”

They share a long look, before Tsukishima breaks it, and looks out the windows once more. The city glows, the strip bustling, cars rushing beneath them. The mountains are dark, far off in the distance.

“I can understand, though.” Tsukishima admits, slowly. “I never…really planned on making this my career. I wasn’t sure what exactly I wanted to do, so I went to dealer school and decided I’d figure it out later, and…”

“How old are you, may I ask?” Kuroo tips his head.

“Twenty-four.” He shrugs. 

“You could still do anything you wanted.”

“Ah, but I don’t know what that is, yet.”

Kuroo chews on his bottom lip – once again, another human gesture. “I understand.”

Kuroo is definitely more human than Tsukishima first thought. His gentlemanly nature and attractive smile are fine walls – fine shields for the media – but already Tsukishima has noticed small habits, like the nervous fiddle of his hands, and the emotions in his eyes.

He's a good guy.

For once, Tsukishima begins the conversation, solely because he wants to.

“Tell me about what you’ve invested in, then. I only _skimmed_ your Wikipedia page.”

Kuroo’s face lights up, and he wiggles closer, talking even when their food comes.

* * *

 

Kuroo walks him to his car. Tsukishima wants to kiss him, like, really bad.

But, er, they’re super in public, and it’s getting late.

“I’m swamped all day tomorrow.” Kuroo admits, hands in his pockets, “I’m meeting with a few contractors. Er, are you busy Friday?”

“I’m actually off that day.” Tsukishima says.

“Ah, perfect! Would you like to go out again?”

“Am I that good of company?” Tsukishima flirts, leaning against his car.

“Wonderful, actually.” Kuroo smirks back.

“Hm, then, I get to choose the next date.” Tsukishima hums. “I pay.”

“W-what, no-“

“No exceptions.” He unlocks his car door, and slips in, “Ill text you.”

Kuroo’s face flickers through multiple emotions, but he does smile, and nod, “Can’t wait.”

Tsukishima drives away really, really wishing that he kissed him.

* * *

 

He works the next day – flipping cards, breathing in secondhand smoke. The usual, you know.

Yamaguchi insists he come over, and throws a _fit_ when he finds out that they haven’t even fucked yet.

“I’ve known him for like, a week.” Tsukishima says, exhausted, but relaxed on his couch.

“Yeah, and I’ve fucked guys I met in the McDonalds bathroom. A week is like, a _year.”_

“I’m seriously concerned for you.” Tsukishima says, digging through a bag of chips, “Like, seriously.”

“Oh, shut up.” Yamaguchi prods his thigh with his toes, sitting opposite him on the couch, “Where are you taking him tomorrow?”

“Mystère.” Tsukishima states, “He said he’s never been to a Cirque De Soleil show.”

“Oh, nice! Hinata get you tickets?”

“Yeah. I don’t like calling in favors, but...”

“Ah, well tell him and Kags that I say hi.”

“Yeah, they’ll be happy.” Tsukishima chews, “Hope Kuroo is.”

“Oh, he will be.” Yamaguchi grins, “He’s like, totally smitten for you.”

“How do you know?”

“You were in the tabloids again!”

“Goddammit.”

“Don’t complain.” Yamaguchi prods him again with a smile, “You’re practically living Hillary Duff’s life in a Cinderella story. People would _kill_ to be in your shoes.”

“Yeah.” Tsukishima shrugs, “It’s alright. Kuroo is pretty nice.”

“You’re such an ass.” Yamaguchi tells him straight, “Literally. An ass. The next time I suck dick for a meal I’m sending you a snap, just to show you how good you’ve got it right now.”

“Tadashi.” He sighs, “I’ll _feed you_ if you just fucking _come over.”_

 _“_ I know, but then I feel guilty.” He pipes, “It’s much easier this way.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, and pushes his toes into Yamaguchi’s stomach just to make him laugh.

* * *

 

He looks at himself in the mirror.

His dark jeans, rolled up at the ankles, curve up to his hips. His button up is rolled to his forearms, his jacket pushed up with it. He looks alright, maybe, but Kuroo will probably look better.

Tsukishima runs a hand through his hair, and adjusts his Ray-Bans, fighting back nerves he shouldn’t have.

* * *

 

“Hello.” Kuroo smiles, opening the limo door in front of Tsukishima’s apartment complex.

“Hey.” He nods, “The limo again, I see.”

“You complaining?”

“Pff, no, by all means, I’d never drive again if I didn’t have to.” Tsukishima retorts, and Kuroo laughs.

“Treasure Island.” Tsukishima tells the driver, as he slides into the car. It’s just as clean and pristine as ever.

“Ooh.” Kuroo coos, “Are we going to a show?”

“Yep.” Tsukishima settles in. They’re both dressed pretty casual – nice shirts and jeans. Still, Kuroo looks great, dammit.

“Isn’t it called the T.I., though?” Kuroo tips his head.

“Oh, yeah. Now it is.” Tsukishima worms a little closer, “I always forget they changed it.”

“Why did they?”

Tsukishima fiddles around with the last button on his shirt, and the car begins to move,  “Treasure Island was a hotel marketed towards kids. You know, family fun and whatnot. They were like _hey folks, I know this place is full of drugs and strippers and gambling, but look! We’re family friendly!”_

 _“_ And?”

“Of course, that idea was horrible, because what person brings their kids to Las Vegas in the first place?” Tsukishima expresses, and lets Kuroo throw an arm over the back of the couch by his shoulders.

“So they call it the _T.I._ now? To be modern?”

“Yep. There used to be a huge skeleton head up on the sign, but now that’s in the neon graveyard.”

“I’ve never been there.”

“It’s a museum full of old Vegas neon.” Tsukishima shrugs, “It's alright.”

“Interesting.” Kuroo smiles, all pretty straight teeth, “That was a lot of words for you, just now.”

“I’m very mouthy.” Tsukishima says proudly, “The more you know me, the more I won’t shut up.”

“Don’t.” Kuroo grins, “I really like your voice.”

“That’s weird.”

“Not really.” Kuroo hums – and at that moment, Tsukishima realizes that ah, yes, he too really, _really_ likes Kuroo’s voice. It’s rumbly, and deep, and could probably sink in water.  Kuroo speaks up again, breaking Tsukishima out of his trance, “I hope you didn’t spend too much on tickets.”

“No. My uh…acquaintances from high school are acrobats, so they got us seats.” Tsukishima shrugs.

“No way! That’s pretty cool.”

“Really?” Tsukishima raises an eyebrow, “You’ve visited all seven continents, and you think _that’s_ cool?”

“Yeah!” Kuroo grins, disgustingly earnest, “I’ve always thought acrobats were super neat. I’m not all that stretchy.”

“You’re a top then.” Tsukishima says, without thinking, and Kuroo sputters out a laugh so hard that Tsukishima flushes. 

“Oh my god, do you have no filter?”

“Sorry.” Tsukishima replies, without meaning it. “It’s automatic.”

“I adore it.” Kuroo purrs, and Tsukishima looks out the window.

* * *

 

Mystère is a beautiful show full of talented acrobats and a wonderful soundtrack. The live music is to die for, as is the aura.

Tsukishima has seen the show countless times, so he doesn’t feel bad watching Kuroo’s face through most of it. His eyes flicker this way and that, his face so full of genuine happiness that Tsukishima wants to kiss, like, all of it.

There wasn’t too much of a hustle getting in; Kuroo gets noticed by a few people with cameras, but that’s about it. Tsukishima, this time, wasn't so against hooking their arms together in public. It makes him feel kinda’ special.

Tsukishima tears his eyes away, and back to the show, when he sees Hinata and Kageyama come out on stage. They’re in gorgeous costumes, and prepare to jump off high bars, down towards the trampolines below.

Their routine is quite impressive, Tsukishima will admit. They move in tandem, like two peas in a pod, two minds alike. Tsukishima has always been vaguely jealous of that.

He elbows Kuroo, and whispers, “That’s them.”

“They’re amazing.” He says back with a grin, and Tsukishima breathes out air through his nose.

“They’re assholes.”

Kuroo laughs behind his hand, and looks back to the show, eyes so full of genuine happiness.

The show continues – Kuroo offers his hand halfway through.

Ah, what the hell?

Tsukishima takes it.

* * *

 

They stay after the last bow – Tsukishima figures he can spare a minute to say hi. The stands filter out, but they remain in the seats, _still_ fucking holding hands like twelve year olds. Kuroo is doing this thing with his thumb, where he kneads into Tsukishima’s palm, and trails down to his wrist, and back up- and it sends little tiny tingles down Tsukishima’s arm.

So, he hasn’t let go yet. Whatever.

Hinata and Kageyama pop up, jumping off the stage, and towards them both. Tsukishima prods Kuroo up, and down the stairs.

“Hey!” Hinata waves, all bubbly orange fire, “Kei!”

Tsukishima nods, “Hey.”

“We haven’t seen you in a while.” Kageyama crosses his arms, makeup still on his face, but now in normal clothes.

“Been busy.”

“Who’s this?” Hinata bounces on his heels.

“Kuroo Tetsurou.” Kuroo grins, and extends his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Call me Shouyou!”

“Kageyama Tobio.” Kageyama nods, and shakes his hand briefly.

“Hey…” Hinata squints, “Aren’t you that guy who opened up a children’s hospital here?”

“Ahh…yes.” Kuroo nods.

“That’s rad!” Hinata grins, “Tsukki, how the hell did you get a date with someone that cool?”

“Shut up.”

Kageyama snorts behind his hand, and Tsukishima rolls his eyes.

“Well, thanks for the tickets, asshole.” Tsukishima folds his hands into his pockets, “We’re leaving now.”

“Yes, thank you.” Kuroo smiles, “You guys were awesome!”

“You’re so welcome!” Hinata grins, “Come back soon, okay?”

“Never.” Tsukishima teases, “Have a good night, circ freaks.”

“See ya’ roulette girl.”

Tsukishima flips him off, and prods Kuroo back up the stairs, ignoring his laughter.

“You guys have a lovely friendship.” Kuroo smiles, extending his elbow once more for Tsukishima to grab.

“I hate them.” Tsukishima lies.

Kuroo only smirks, eyes sparkly, glowing with pride when Tsukishima grips his arm.

“So where to next, Mister Date Planner?”

“Food.” Tsukishima says, “Somewhere I can afford.”

“I’ll pay for dinner.” Kuroo offers, “You got us tickets, after all.”

“I didn’t pay a damn thing for them. I’ll pay.” Tsukishima pats for his wallet, and feels it in his back pocket, “It won’t be anything like the Stratosphere, though.”

“I’m perfectly fine with that.” Kuroo glows, “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Right outside the New York New York hotel is the Shake Shack. It’s smack in the middle of Vegas, lit up in lights. The lines are ridiculously long, mostly for the decent food, and the view. It’s…technically? Fast food? But it’s fucking delicious, and in Tsukishima’s price range.

“I’ve always wanted to stop by here.” Kuroo says, as they walk through the crowds, eyeing the tall hotels around them, “There’s always a line.”

“It’s not gourmet, but it’s good.”

“I don’t just eat off a silver platter, you know.” Kuroo smiles, “I shove hot Cheetos in my mouth six at a time like everyone else.”

“Only six? Natural selection is coming for you.”

Kuroo laughs, hands folding in his pockets as they wait in line. Tsukishima takes a moment to appreciate how good he looks in jeans.

They order and find an empty table outside. There are street performers a few feet away, at the bottom of the stairs. Some are dressed in costumes, and others play strange instruments.

“What an exhausting city to live in.” Kuroo mumbles, suddenly, as he settles in his chair.

“On the strip, maybe, but if you get out in Henderson or Summerlin, it’s just like any other city.”

“I’m from New York.” Kuroo says, “So, none of this is too foreign.”

“Next you’ll tell me you have your own Stark Tower with your name on it.”

Kuroo looks him in the eye for one moment, before he quickly looks away, and focuses on a street performer. Tsukishima narrows his eyes, and shifts in the chair, “You aren’t fucking serious.”

“ _Weeeellll-_ “

“Oh my god.” Tsukishima pulls out his phone, and prepares to google for it. “You have your name on your own building.”

“It’s just my last name!”

“Oh, my god.” Tsukishima laughs, and finds it on google images. He turns his phone around, “I cannot believe this.”

“It’s a nice building.” Kuroo sniffs.

“Yeah, no shit. You’re as bad as the Trump tower.”

“Nuh huh.” Kuroo pouts, “It’s not a _hotel_ it’s just my base of operations.”

“If you have a private jet, I’m walking away right now.”

“Noo, noo.” Kuroo laughs, “Please don’t leave.”

“Is your name on it?”

“No!”

“Alright.” Tsukishima crosses his arms, tone light and playful, “I’ll stay.”

“Thank goodness.” Kuroo grins, and Tsukishima’s heart does flip flops.

This evening is…oddly magical. The lights flicker around them, the music from performers loud. People hustle and laugh – others hand out fliers. Cars honk, drinks spill.

Ah, but the food is great, and Kuroo is so…interesting. Despite his wealth, he has a certain humility to him- granted, not much, but it’s obvious that he tries. He’s a wonderful date, a perfect gentleman, and all around fascinating to be with.

Which is _not_ good. No, no. Not at all.

Tsukishima isn’t good at pretending; at work he keeps his trap shut, and wears fake smiles, but that’s the best he can do. People bore him, usually. Yamaguchi is the one exception, but they were raised together, so that hardly counts.

Tsukishima doesn’t do multiple dates – he doesn’t make best friends, and he doesn’t call back. People are boring- two dimensional at best. Once Tsukishima has them figured out, he moves on. End of story.

But Tsukishima isn’t growing tired of Kuroo – not in the slightest. Instead he feels _energized._

This is bad.

* * *

 

The evening ends at another goodbye at Tsukishima’s doorstep.

“Thanks for the ride home.” He says.

“Pff, thanks for the date.” Kuroo grins, pretty teeth and all.

Tsukishima shrugs, “It wasn’t much, but…”

“I seriously loved it.” Kuroo nods. “I’m serious. The big, flashy scene gets tiring after a while.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm. I’ve been on dates with people that _only_ want the biggest and the best. It’s neat, but, I don’t mind a burger and a show.”

Tsukishima smiles, and shifts his weight, hands behind his back. “Oh, look at you, bigshot.”

“I’m not bragging!”

“I once went on a date with this guy who took me fly-fishing. Fucking, fly-fishing. Don’t complain about princess girls who want gold shavings on their ice cream.”

Kuroo snorts out a laugh, especially adorable in the light of Tsukishima’s front door.

“Holy shit, that’s hilarious.”

“Don’t laugh at my pain.” Tsukishima retorts, his voice monotone, but his eyes glossy.

There’s a pause – they’re quite close, now. It sounds stupid as hell to put it this way, but, in all honesty, time slows for a moment. All Tsukishima can focus on are Kuroo’s eyelashes, occasionally brushing against his upper cheek.

 _Kiss me._ He thinks, not saying a thing. _Kiss me. Kiss me. God, fucking kiss me-_

Kuroo’s eyes, dark and alluring, glance from his lips, down to his neck, and back up again. It’s quick, but Tsukishima catches it all. Kuroo is only an inch shorter- but holds himself so high – so mighty. They see eye to eye, but still, Kuroo slowly raises a hand to the base of Tsukishima’s neck, and slots their lips together in one quick press.

It takes every ounce of will power not to melt; Tsukishima manages to hold his own, tipping his head, allowing the hand on his neck to press gently.

And fucking _god bless,_ Kuroo is a great kisser. Finally, someone who doesn’t shove their tongue down his throat in the first two seconds.

Instead it’s slow, an even push and pull, lips separating and pressing back together again. Tsukishima’s long arms raise, curling behind Kuroo’s neck – he’ll probably look back on the gesture and cringe, but right now he _really_ needs something to hold onto.

His body flushes hot, and his eyes force themselves closed. Kuroo lets out a small, almost inaudible hum against his lips, and Tsukishima breathes out through his nose. They break for air, for just one single second, before Tsukishima presses back in impatiently. He can feel Kuroo smile against him – he can feel the fingers play with the curls on his neck – but Tsukishima just can’t find it in himself to care about anything else, other than what’s right here.

The whole thing about fireworks always seemed cliché; kissing is kissing – sometimes it’s sloppy and your teeth click, and like, tongues are weird too? And that noise you make when your lips smack is borderline embarrassing – so, Tsukishima never really thought it was _that_ fantastic.

Ah, but, it seems that Tsukishima has been kissing the wrong people.

Kuroo kisses him one last time, one last slide of his bottom lip, before he pulls back with a grin.

“Not bad.”

“Not bad?” Tsukishima sputters, mildly offended.

Kuroo laughs, thumbing over the bumps of Tsukishima’s neck, “When’s your next day off?”

“Monday.”

“Text me, then.” Kuroo winks, gives him a final pat on the hip, and saunters away, towards his sleek, black limo.

Tsukishima is left at his doorstep, nearly breathless, his heart smacking against his ribcage.


	3. Chapter 3

You see, there’s this thing about fairytales- something that nobody tells you about.

Tsukishima stares at the calendar on his phone, curled up in blankets, his fans on high to counter-balance the temperature.

Eight days left.

He sets his phone aside – he figures it’s a future problem, for a future him to deal with.

Still, his heart does that little thing where it buzzes; he feels on edge, his skin uncomfortable, his lungs heavy.

Tsukishima kicks off his covers, and prepares to take a long shower, the Nevada drought be dammed.

* * *

 

It’s not like he exactly _planned_ to jerk off thinking about Kuroo, okay? It wasn’t on the agenda.

But yada yada, shit happens, bro.

Tsukishima hasn’t seen him in two days, but he’s still thinking about that kiss on his doorstep.

He presses his face into his pillow and groans, still on his side, left leg hiked up slightly for his hand to reach between his thighs. His sweatpants tangle right above his knees, the fabric pulling as Tsukishima pants against his sheets.

He’s fucking rock solid right now – and god, he seriously tried every trick in the book, but this fuck of a hardon is determined to _stay._

So Tsukishima works his hand, practiced from his teenage years, slick from lotion.

He feels gross like this, because he hasn’t even seen much of Kuroo to _think_ about. All he’s felt is his mouth against his, and the hand at the back of his neck.

But dammit, that hand was callused, and strong – it shouldn’t be, for someone born with a silver spoon in their mouth, but his fingers held strength.

His lips weren’t cracked; his body was warm, his chest way broader than Tsukishima’s. His hair was incredibly soft against his wrists, where Tsukishima locked his arms behind his head.

_Fuck_ he wants those hands to push him against the headboard – he wants that mouth to _destroy_ him.

Tsukishima’s body seizes, his orgasm smacking him in the gut way too quickly. He doesn’t have enough time to reach for any tissues, instead grinding his teeth together, and accepting the mess he’s made of his sheets.

* * *

 

Monday rolls around; Tsukishima gets a phone call.

“Hello?”

“ _Kei, it’s Kuroo.”_

“Er…hi?”

“ _I hope you’re dressed~. I’m picking you up today._ ”

Tsukishima smiles, and leans down to run his hand across his cat’s head, humming into the phone, “Mm, are you?”

“ _Yep. We’re headed to Fashion Show.”_

“We’re going shopping?” Tsukishima stands back up.

“ _Mmhmm~. We gotta’ get you some new clothes.”_

Tsukishima looks down at himself, “We do?”

“ _Oh, did I not tell you?”_

“…Tell me what?”

“ _Sorry, I called in for you again. Told your boss you’ll be busy on Wednesday.”_

“Kuroo…” Tsukishima blinks, “You can’t just…fucking call into work for me.”

“ _Ah, but I did. I sent your boss a really nice wine basket, so, she should be fine with it.”_

_“_ Um… what’s so important on Wednesday, then?”

“ _I’ve got this dinner I need a date to. There’s going to be a few business partners. I uh, signed onto the Fontainbleau project.”_

“Congrats.” Tsukishima blinks, “But why don’t you just take some girl?”

It’s not like…this is something real. It’s not like they’re _together_ together. These are just dates – something fun, for a rich businessman while he vacations. He’s probably done this before, and will do it again, and again- in Germany and Dubai and every great place in the world he’s spent more than two days.

“ _But I don’t want to! Nobody is as gorgeous as you. I know if I dress you up real nice, I’ll be the epitone of jealousy in the room._ ”

“You have that backwards.” Tsukishima mumbles, rubbing away the pink on his cheeks.

“ _What was that?_ ”

“Nothing. So shopping, then?”

“ _Yessir. Be by in an hour~.”_

Click.

* * *

 

Kuroo comes by in the Lamborghini, revving the engine like an asshole. Tsukishima tries to look unimpressed – instead he focuses on Kuroo as he drives, the steady flickering of his eyes, and the way his hands work over the wheel.

The 215 can be a hellish road, but on Mondays it’s none too bad. They make it to Fashion Show; a grand mall across from the Trump tower. It’s a tourist attraction, for the stores, of course, but also the grand runway smack dab in the middle of the mall. Shows run there, occasionally, stores showcasing the newest trends, shoppers gathering to watch.

They valet the car, and Kuroo offers his arm again.

Tsukishima stares at it long and hard; Kuroo is dressed the most casual yet, in a button down, slim jacket and dark jeans. Still, he’s sure the clothes cost more than his rent.

Tsukishima doesn’t take his arm, instead, reaching down with his right hand to weave their fingers together. Its a sappy move, but whatever.

Kuroo looks like a kid in a candy store, eyes lighting up, smile widening, happily parading Tsukishima through the mall.

“Okay, so I wanna’ stop by Ted Baker first.”

“Are you kidding? That’s so expensive.” Tsukishima blinks, “It’s right by Macy’s, let’s just go there-“

“No, no.” Kuroo shakes his head, “This is my treat. I want you to look _delectable._ ”

“Bite me.” Tsukishima spits back, and looks away when Kuroo laughs.

It’s not that Tsukishima doesn’t appreciate fashion, because he _certainly_ does. He might be a designer, in the next life. It’s just…nice clothes are fucking expensive, and Tsukishima can deal with the men’s section of Target if it means saving a hundred dollars on a pair of jeans.

Still, Kuroo leads them into the store, immediately picking out different button ups, all short sleeved and patterned and nice as hell.

“What are these for?”

“For that grey suit of yours.” Kuroo hands him another one, “It’s a really nice suit, you just need a better shirt underneath.”

“But a pattern?” Tsukishima lifts up a hound’s-tooth shirt, “With a suit?”

“I’m from _New York._ ” Kuroo grins, “I know fashion, and I know you’ll look awesome. Go try some on.”

Tsukishima huffs, but turns on his heel, and stalks towards the dressing rooms.

He steps out in one, a pink, floral shirt. It clashes with his dark skinny jeans, but whatever.

“Nah.” Kuroo says, from his spot on the couch, “Next.”

“Wow.” Tsukishima looks down at himself, “Demanding, aren’t you.”

“Well, of course you look cute, but you could look cuter.” Kuroo blinks, “Next.”

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, and changes once more. The next shirt has polka dots, all white and grey.

“Hmm.” Kuroo purrs, and twirls his finger, “Turn.”

“Oh my god.” Tsukishima complains, and turns around once.

“Eh, it’ll clash with the grey, don’t you think?”

“Probably.”

“Next~.” Kuroo sings, and Tsukishima saunters off.

It takes him a minute to throw on the next button up, but when he does come out, there’s a cute sales associate chittering happily, hands behind her back, eyes wide.

“Are you really him?”

“Ahaha, yes.” Kuroo smiles, gentlemanly, and kind, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh my goodness.” She bats her eyelashes, “Is there anything I can get for you?”

“No, no, I think I’m okay-“

Tsukishima props his hand on his hip and watches, eyebrow raised, until Kuroo looks his way.

“ _Ohhh._ ” Kuroo makes a purring sound, “I like that one.”

Tsukishima looks to the mirror; it’s a baby blue oxford shirt, short sleeved, and lightweight.

“That’ll look so good with the grey.” Kuroo grins. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah…I guess.” Tsukishima shrugs, and pretends to look indifferent. Instead he’s _boiling_ with smugness, watching as the associate slips away, eyeing him angrily.

“Cool! Next you need some new shoes.”

“I like my shoes.”

“Yes, but I’ll get you _nicer_ ones.”

Tsukishima huffs, and turns to the dressing room, but looks over his shoulder and feels _totally_ awesome that he caught Kuroo checking out his ass.

* * *

 

They’re holding hands again.

Kuroo offered to carry the bags, fit now with a new shirt and shoes.

Now, they window shop, passing by stores and occasionally peeking inside.

Kuroo wasn’t kidding – he really knows his fashion, which is almost a turn on. There’s nothing worse than a man that says _I don’t know anything about clothes! I’m a man!_ Ugh.

“Ohh Tommy Bahama.” Kuroo smiles, “I’ve met a few designers for them.”

“Really?”

“Yep!” Kuroo squeezes his hand, “I’ve done some red carpet events, so I’m kinda’ forced to know my stuff.”

“I think that’s cool.” Tsukishima says, without thinking, and looks away when Kuroo’s head whips over towards him.

“ _Ooh._ Was that a compliment I just heard?”

“No.”

“I think it was.” Kuroo coos, and laughs when Tsukishima refuses to look his away.

The mall bustles with energy – shoppers come and go, and Tsukishima continues to have a good time, dammit.

The afternoon approaches quickly; they catch the last ten minutes of a fashion show, before Kuroo mumbles _are you hungry?_ against his ear _._

“Of course.” Tsukishima had responded, with an eye roll, and Kuroo had grinned wildly.

It seems that Kuroo is determined to have them _all over_ the strip, because they hop in the Lambo and head to Creasers Palace – a hotel and mall really only for the rich.

Dinner goes fine.

Ah, well, it’s actually fantastic, but Tsukishima tries to ignore his surprise. 

It’s funny what being a local does to you – you tend to ignore the busyness of it all – you focus on your own life, rather than the hotels, and the drinking.

But Tsukishima forgot about the good things.

Instead they talk, and talk, and _talk._ Tsukishima feels himself loosening up, he can feel himself growing comfortable.

Dangerous, dangerous.

* * *

 

They’re laughing when they step into Kuroo’s car. There was this guy who tripped headfirst into the Caesars Palace fountain, and it was _fucking hilarious._

Tsukishima is feeling loose, maybe from the alcohol, but probably from Kuroo, too.

“Hey, it’s not all that late.” Kuroo checks his watch – probably a rolodex. “Do you want to stop by my place? I can make us some drinks.”

Tsukishima raises an eyebrow, “Your place?"

“Ah, well, my hotel room. I’m staying in the top of the Mandalay Bay.”

“At the _penthouse?_ ” Tsukishima blinks, “ _At the Mandalay?_ No wonder you came by and saw me every day, I was just an elevator ride away.”

Kuroo laughs, and prepares to pull out of the valet, “Ahh, I’ve been discovered.”

“I’ve never been up there.” Tsukishima notes. “Let’s go.”

Kuroo shoots him a look out of the corner of his eye, and Tsukishima meets it.

* * *

 

The rooms at the very top of the Mandalay aren’t just for anyone. They’re exclusively for big winners, famous people, or the rich.

Or, a combination of three.

The elevator ride is long; Tsukishima feels antsy. The top few buttons of Kuroo’s shirt are undone, tan, soft skin visible for Tsukishima to suck on.

He keeps his hands to himself; Tsukishima can already feel his blood running warm, and Kuroo seems dead set on being a perfect gentleman. For all Tsukishima knows, his intentions might be pure. 

They pass security on the way – Tsukishima hopes they don’t recognize him.

The doors swing open, and _fuck holy shit._

The view…it’s…

It’s like the Stratosphere, but better.

The hotel room is like a small house, large, spiral staircases leading to an upper floor, all white walls and gorgeous decorations. The floor is shiny; but the outside walls – there _are none._

They’re surrounded by windows, circling all the rooms. There’s long draperies pushed to the side, showing the lights of the city below. Tsukishima can see a bedroom, and multiple bathrooms – a _kitchen_ even, all so open, and carefree.

Tsukishima realizes he hasn’t said a thing, and tries to speak, but all that comes out is a gush of air.

Kuroo laughs, and presses a hand to his back, before slipping away towards the bar, “Neat, huh?”

 Tsukishima mumbles a curse, slowly approaching the windows. It’s intimidating – the glass is super thick, and reinforced, but it’s still scary.

“I always stay here.” Kuroo says, “I’ve been to other hotels, but Mandalay is positioned _just_ at the end of the strip, letting you see the entire valley.”

Tsukishima says nothing. He just rubs his arms, his eyes tired, but his body suddenly awake. He can see Kuroo’s reflection behind him, two drinks in hand.

The mood takes a softer turn – the light, joking nature slowly seeping away into something more intimate.

Tsukishima takes the drink, swirls the ice cubes, and takes a sip. Kuroo stands beside him, otherwise silent.  It’s hot outside, but the pristine air conditioning keeps the room chilly. Tsukishima resists a shiver, and continues to stare.

“What day do you fly out?” Tsukishima suddenly mumbles, soft, against the glass of his fine liquor. 

“Sunday.” He answers, just as low.

There’s this unanswered question lingering in the air – it’s just on the tip of Tsukishima’s tongue, right, _right there-_

_What are we doing?_

There’s a gentle, soft clack of a glass being set against a table, before Tsukishima sees the reflection once more.

Warm, strong hands brace at his waist, trailing forwards, and locking above his bellybutton. There’s a nose at his neck, right at his hairline, warm breath puffing across his ear.

Tsukishima’s initial reaction is to freeze- but he does eventually thaw, leaning back against him. 

They’re both thinking it- thinking, _does the fairy tale end on Sunday?_

The lights flicker- there’s the sound of drunk laugher down the hallway. Tsukishima leans slightly to the left, and clacks his drink on the table as well. It might leave a watermark, but Tsukishima is more concerned about the body heat resting against his back.

“I’ll take you home, if you want.” Kuroo mutters. His voice is lower than usual -it makes Tsukishima’s chest tighten. It also makes him kinda' hard.

“What makes you think I want that?” Tsukishima huffs, turning around in his grip to look Kuroo in the eye.

He’s caught him off guard – good. It’s Tsukishima’s time to shine.

  
He draws a hand up, slow, to rest against Kuroo’s cheek, before spreading it up into his hair. Tsukishima mumbles, “I’ve been…beside myself with infatuation.”

“Mmm.” Kuroo purrs, hands pressing Tsukishima closer, and away from the cold glass, “Have you really?”

Kuroo’s hair is soft, and incredibly thick, bending to every prod of Tsukishima’s fingers. Their mouths are close, but they don’t kiss – not quite yet.

“I have.” Tsukishima states, his left hand worming between their bodies, pressing flat against Kuroo’s navel. His thumb lightly trails against his waistband, “I’ve especially wanted in _these-“_ he grips his belt, and gives a little tug, “-since you first showed up at my table.”

Kuroo’s eyes widen, just a fraction, before his mouth splits into a wicked grin. He’s the first to make a move, his head tipping to the side, their noses brushing together as they kiss. Tsukishima hums against him, tightening the hold in the back of his hair and pulling Kuroo closer.

They mold together so well, it’s disgusting. Tsukishima is rather slender by nature – but Kuroo is all lines of fine muscle. He fills in Tsukishima’s holes – holds him in places he doesn’t seal himself.

Their lips smack particularly loud, and Kuroo breaks out into a smile. Tsukishima’s lips tug once before he’s kissing Kuroo again, pulling at his bottom lip. They breathe through their noses, and when that’s not enough, they break, just to press back in again. It’s a steady motion – a dance that matches sex in and of itself. Kisses aren’t like in the movies, where you press once, and sit there like two liplocked fish.

It’s a back and forth – a press, and pull. Kiss, and back, inhale, exhale.

Bodies flush warmer, hands keep moving. 

Tsukishima’s libido is pretty ridiculous, in his own opinion. Does the phrase _power bottom_ mean anything? To be one, you have to be pretty into sex.

And oh, is Tsukishima into it. Kuroo’s fingertips dip into his lower back, before slipping down to grab at his ass. Tsukishima shamelessly moans, feather light, but audible nonetheless. He can feel Kuroo’s breath hitch before he presses closer, their kisses changing sloppy.

There’s the first press of tongue – this time Tsukishima welcomes it with his own.

It traces the roof of his mouth. It paws across his tongue, and slips back in, licking across his lips, turning Tsukishima into a slobbery mess.

They kiss and kiss and press and pull and gasp- until Tsukishima tugs back to suck in air.

“Fuck.” He gasps out, back falling against the glass. Although, Kuroo isn’t done – not in the slightest. He presses forwards, hungry, radiating power and strength and everything Tsukishima jerks off to at night. A hand slips up to undo his button up; another hand thumbs at his ass.

“There’s not much there.” Tsukishima pants, and exhales when Kuroo laughs against his neck.

“Is there?” Kuroo hums, squeezing his ass one last time, before trailing around to palm his cock through his jeans.

Tsukishima’s head makes a lovely _thunk_ noise against the glass. Kuroo’s head moves with him, taking advantage of all the skin available to him now, mouth lightly kissing from his ear, down to his collarbone.

Bloods starts to rush south, like, at an unhealthy rate. Tsukishima wants to reciprocate; he wants to get on his knees and _beg –_ but right now he’s full of jelly, only able to focus on breathing.

“I’ve thought about this.” Kuroo mumbles, undoing more buttons on Tsukishima’s shirt.

“Of me?”

“Of course.” Kuroo’s hand presses across the bulge in his jeans once more, “You’re gorgeous.”

“The receptionist is gorgeous.” He replies, through a strained tone.

“Well you’re _stunning._ ” He coos, hand finding Tsukishima’s zipper, “Gold eyes. Long legs. Goddamn. Walk all over me, Kei.”

Tsukishima lets out a snort, and finally kicks his brain into gear. He brings his hands down to the hem of Kuroo’s shirt, and yanks it up over his head in one fluid motion. It catches Kuroo off guard, but he does flash that familiar smile, hair now a mess. It’s okay, Tsukishima will only mess it up more.

He hums, “What’ve you thought about?”

“You on your knees.” Kuroo purrs, hands undoing his jeans expertly, “On your back.” His mouth comes up to move against his ear, “I’ve thought about fucking you against this glass. Right here.”

Ah. Well, _that_ certainly does Tsukishima in. His back arches and his eyes squeeze shut, hips grinding into Kuroo’s hand like a fucking teenager. He tugs hard at Kuroo’s hair and smashes their lips together, none too coordinated, and everything that Tsukishima used to hate about kissing.

But now – _now –_ he can’t get enough. He’s addicted, positively, to Kuroo’s alluring cologne, and the lovely taste of his tongue.

“God.” Tsukishima purrs against him, “If you don’t split me open against this window I will _die._ ” His nails rake down the naked chest in front of him – and _fffffuck_ oh my god, he’s so toned. He’s so? Toned? Like what the hell. What the f u c k-

Kuroo’s laugh is rumbly, and deep, and to Tsukishima’s lust filled mind it only spurs him on.

“Are you sure?” Kuroo asks, finally, finally dipping his fingers into Tsukishima’s waistband and shoving his pants off his ass, down to his thighs, along with this underwear. “I could make you come just like this.” His voice lowers more, “Just with my words.”

“I’ll throw a huge bitch fit.” Tsukishima trembles. “Such a huge one. I’ll sue. I’ll go to court. I’ll, I’ll- hhnng-“ He bites down on his words as soon as Kuroo wraps a hand around him and pumps, long, and slow, and dry.

Kuroo laughs – the smug asshole – and works Tsukishima’s cock in his hand once more. _Fuck_ Tsukishima is like, embarrassingly hard. He shouldn’t be this hard- only so much blood goes into your dick, man. This is like, _unhealthy._

Tsukishima grits his teeth and huffs out a breath through his nose, taking matters into his own hands, quickly undoing Kuroo’s belt and tossing it to the floor. The pants come next – of course he wears silk underwear- he shoves them off Kuroo’s hips, just past the curve of his ass.

It’s kind of a relief to see that Kuroo is just as hard; he’s a damn good size, too. Tsukishima should feel vaguely disgusted that his mouth physically waters, but, eh, when life gives you lemons…

His hand is literally magnetized to his dick, and he grins when Kuroo lets out a grunt.

“Fuck, turn around."

“Doggy style?” Tsukishima coos, “Oh, Mr. Kuroo, how dirty of you-“

He barely gets the chance to tease, before strong hands press into his sides and twist him, turning him towards the window, his pants falling down to his ankles. He barely steps out of them before Kuroo is at his back, hands sprawling across naked skin.

“Fuck.” Tsukishima pants, eyes glued on the four hundred foot drop below him, hands against the window, “S-some old lady tourist is g-gonna’ get a great view.”

“They can’t see,” Kuroo mumbles against his spine, “especially with the lights off like this.”

It’s true – as it’s gotten darker, their only source of light is the strip below. The hotel room is silent behind them, the only noise being the traffic from the city.

Tsukishima is usually fairly level headed during sex; he’d go so far as to say he’s a great fuck. Except, right now, he’s literally _vibrating_ with excitement. His thoughts are just a jumbled mess of _fuck me fuck me get in me touch me –_

Kuroo sinks to his knees behind him. Tsukishima thinks all his dreams might’ve just come true.

Hands press into the flesh of his ass, forcing his thighs to spread wider. Tsukishma’s breath fogs a little circle against the window – if he squints, he can see Kuroo’s reflection behind him, and-

There’s a tongue, long, and flat against his hole, and Tsukishima’s mouth falls open.

“ _Ohhh myyy go~d._ ” His voice pitches, eyes screwing shut, “You are _not-_ “

“Sorry.” Kuroo mumbles, hands falling down to dig at his thighs, before pressing his tongue back against him back more.

“ _Fuck._ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Tsukishima repeats under his breath, wiggling back against his tongue. Fuck yes! Fuck, yes. It takes _so_ much to get some hook up off the street to do this – damn, Kuroo is a god sent.

His cock bobs against his stomach with every kitten lick- and he visibly groans every time the tongue presses in, just a little.

Kuroo eats him out in earnest, and it’s a religious experience. Kuroo’s hands hold him still – they keep him from fucking back onto his tongue. Tsukishima’s breath fogs, and fogs, his eyes watering, because suddenly he’s _so_ close. He avoids touching himself, instead focusing on not sounding like a jibbery idiot.

“I’mma’ grab lube.” Kuroo mumbles, after what feels like years.

“Shit.” Tsukishima curses, “Hurry.”

He needs, he needs-

“Mm, why should I?” Kuroo stands up, hands exploring his spine, his hips, his ass, his thighs- “You look good like this.”

“I’m fucking _leaking_ on this carpet right now.” Tsukishima grits, “Don’t do this.”

Kuroo laughs, and pitters off into the bathroom. There’s the soft sound of mouthwash spitting into the sink, before he comes back with a grin.

That body heat is at his back once more, a hand sliding around, a slick finger pressing in without warning. Tsukishima jolts, choking on a breath.

“Mmm, what a shame.” Kuroo mumbles, and works in a second finger quickly, “I almost wish they could see you like this. Y’know, spread open, wet as hell. You look _obscene._ ”

Tsukishima does _not_ whimper, but, okay, he might’ve let out a small noise, it’s fine.

“Just you wait.” He gasps, jolting back when his cockhead presses against the cold glass, “I’ll ride you so hard, you’ll forget how to tease.”

“Lookin’ forward to it.”

A third finger presses in, and Tsukishima grinds his teeth together when they press into his prostate. His body jolts beyond his permission, his voice garbling a soft moan.  _God_ it’s so much. It’s almost frustrating how much Kuroo knows what he’s doing- Tsukishima looks back to eye him, but-

Kuroo, surprisingly enough, is flushing more than he is.

Tsukishima blinks; he watches color fill his face more, eyes glued to where his fingers thrust in, and out, at a steady pace.

Tsukishima swallows back a groan, and huffs, “You okay there?”

“Sorry.” He mumbles, low, “I got distracted. You’re beautiful.”

Tsukishima sucks in air, and presses his forehead against the window, glasses clacking. His body _burns,_ so full of fire, practically vibrating with need. He’s rock solid, his body ready to _go go go-_

“Dammit, Tetsurou, I need you in me.” He pants, “I’m not below begging. I’ll get on my knees.”

“Now that’s something I’d like to see.” Kuroo says, but his breathing sounds heavy. There’s the sound of a wrapper – there’s weight at his back.

Tsukishima’s body arches into his when he finally presses in, slick with lube, slow at first. Tsukishima remembers to relax, remembers to breathe and push out his ass. He bites down a noise of complaint, the burn bleeding into pleasure as soon as Kuroo gets in deep enough.

"Good?"

"Mmm." 

Kuroo’s hips snap forward the last few inches, and Tsukishima moans.

“Oh my god.” He gasps, “You’re in my fucking stomach.” It's awesome. 

There’s a laugh against his ear, warm, and familiar, before hips pull back, and slam in.

It’s here, above Las Vegas, where the lights buzz and the cars honk, that Tsukishima realizes that he’s getting nailed by a millionaire. Someone _famous._ Someone with power.

He; Tsukishima; a born and raised Nevadan who graduated without any real hope for the future.

His watery eyes open; he looks down to the lights; he looks across the valley. Hips snap back, and in, hands press against his slender thighs. Tsukishima tries to hold onto his dignity - tries to keep his voice in - tries to seem cool-

Tsukishima let’s go, and falls.

His hands press hard into the glass, and his mouth opens into a horrible mantra of _yes, yes, harder, harder, t-tetsurou tetsurou-_

Kuroo’s small noises behind him accompany the wet slap of skin, the slide made wonderful through generous amounts of lube. 

“ _Kei._ ” He pants, hips driving far, far, farther than Tsukishima has taken before. His breath hitches, his body hard against the window. It feels cool against his sex-flushed skin, everything now so, so hot. It _burns, it burns,_ his body burns with a desire to be so much closer.

It seems that Tsukishima has been fucking the wrong people too.

There’s a rough, guttural groan behind him, before strong hands flip him around and hoist him up by his thighs.

Tsukishima is so whiplashed that he can only look on with wide eyes. Red marks scatter his face from his glasses, where they were pushing hard into his face. Kuroo uses one hand to take them off his face, and chucks them down to the table by their side, before holding Tsukishima up against the window and sliding in fully.

Tsukishima loses it.

He fully loses it, completely, utterly, nails clawing at Kuroo’s back, mouth opening to sob.

He burns, he burns.

"T-Tetsu-hhhnn!!" 

"Kei," he purrs back, right against his ear. 

Tsukishima has never been held up against a wall- he's always been too tall, too heavy, but _fuck_ - 

Kuroo bounces him on his cock hard, rough, everything that Tsukishima needed. He bites into his neck -  bites twice, three times. None of that sweet, gentle, romancy first sex bullshit.

They’re down to their bone. They’re rubbed raw.

When Tsukishima comes, he digs his heels into Kuroo’s back and yelps, spilling so hard between them that he thinks he might never come again.

Kuroo’s quick gasps and soft moans are enough for Tsukishima to remember to clench down hard, and Kuroo cries out too, weight falling forwards, sandwiching him against the glass. They breathe, and pant, and heave. 

And then it’s silent.

* * *

 

The hotel bed is luxurious, the sheets made of fine fabrics.

Tsukishima wasn’t sure how quickly he’d get kicked out, but it doesn’t look like any time soon.

Kuroo called dibs on the big spoon- what kind of big businessman calls dibs?- as he now presses his nose into Tsukishima’s hair, and draws small circles on his naked hip.

Strong, warm fingers dip down around his hip bone. They travel down, around the flesh of his outer thigh, and back up.

Tsukishima’s eyes are heavy. The sheets are warm. The pillows are soft.

Still, he says, “How many times have you been here?”

Tsukishima doesn’t mean that literally, and Kuroo knows.

“Many times.” He answers. That doesn’t make Tsukishima feel much better, so he closes his eyes.

“How many twink looking fuckers like me?”

“Two or three.” Kuroo says, “But none like you.”

“Tell me about them.” Tsukishima breathes, because he’d rather just rip off the band aid. He’d rather dig his thumb into the wound and watch it bleed out all it’s got. He’d rather tear out the stitches, then have them half heal.

“A man in India.” Kuroo whispers, “Twenty- one. He was pretty, but he was naïve.”

“And the others?”

“An eighteen-year-old while I was in Austria. I was twenty-two. He was gorgeous, but a real pain in the ass.”

“Remind you of someone?” Tsukishima wiggles his hips a little, and Kuroo lets out an unrefined snort.

“You’re not a pain. Not in the slightest.”

“Your judgment is clouded.”

“It’s not.” Kuroo dips his head to press a single kiss against Tsukishima’s neck, right over a nasty forming hickey, a knee worming between Tsukishima’s bare thighs, “I’m a good judge of character. It’s my job to be.”

Tsukishima isn’t sure what else to say. Instead he feels that hand on his hip, those fingers drawing figure eights, and falls asleep, just like that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿
> 
> edit: i received some awesome art for this chapter !
> 
> check out [this one ](http://kr-tsk.tumblr.com/post/148592544386/if-you-dont-split-me-open-against-this-window-i) and [this one!](http://sawa18.tumblr.com/post/147550275253/what-makes-you-think-i-want-that-tsukishima)


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, he wakes with _just_ enough time to skitter down the elevator, and slide behind his blackjack table.

Kuroo was kind enough to have a uniform waiting for him at the foot of the bed, along with a handwritten note saying _Have a good day~ Txt me._

All day he thinks of the hotel room, high above his head - thinks about how he was pressed against the window, that smooth, seductive voice against his ear. He grips the edge of the blackjack table, velvety under his fingers. 

Tsukishima’s heart aches, and aches, and he doesn’t want to dig deep enough to find out why.

* * *

 

He gets a text from his brother the next day.

_>  Kei? ?_

Tsukishima sighs, and taps the edge of his phone against his forehead a few times, before he texts back,

_Yes? <_

_> Kei I saw you on TMZ? You’re dating a someone famous?_

Tsukishima breathes in, and out.

_We’re not dating. <_

A response back;

_> Oh._

_> Ohhh._

_> Are you okay?_

Tsukishima rolls his eyes, and says _yes, I’m fine Akiteru,_ and tosses his phone somewhere on his bed.

He should do laundry, or go grocery shopping, or _clean,_ but he doesn’t feel like doing anything at all.

Socrates climbs onto his lap; Tsukishima falls asleep like that.

* * *

 

Dammit.

Kuroo was totally right about the baby blue button up. It goes really well with his grey suit; it actually changes the look entirely, as do the shoes.

When Kuroo sees him he grins, dimples, sparkly eyes and all, and reaches the short distance between them to gently prod at Tsukishima’s neck, fitting their lips together nicely.

Tsukishima kisses back quickly, more focused on the new suit Kuroo is wearing, and the way it hugs his thighs. A part of Tsukishima thought maybe…maybe if he just banged him _once_ the lust would go away, but it looks like that isn’t going to come true any time soon.

"You look amazing." Kuroo says, so genuine, too much so.

"You too." Tsukishima jokes, "Like you don't know that." 

Kuroo laughs out a _thank you -_ Tsukishima calms his swelling heart.

As they walk into the restaurant, Tsukishima clinging to Kuroo's arm, he mumbles, “Anything I need to know about these guys?”

“Nah.” Kuroo smiles, “It’s just business. You don’t even have to pay attention, if you don’t want to.”

Well, that’s good enough for Tsukishima. A free meal, and people he doesn’t have to talk to.

The table is already full of people when they get there, men and women alike, all dressed nicely. The Luxor is an interesting hotel, pyramid shaped, filled with good food, like this place.

Kuroo pulls out his chair; Tsukishima nods.

He looks to the table and realizes, with a fast strike of fear, that they’re the only gay couple at the table- but that doesn’t phase Kuroo in the slightest. He shakes hands, all professional tones and kind words.

They sit, they order, they talk.

Tsukishima observes behind half lidded eyes.

A man, handsome and broad sits across them. His dark hair frames his face, his jawline set and stone. His business partner sits next to him happily, silver hair, kind eyes. They’re oddly close-

Tsukishima sips his drink, and realizes maybe he was wrong about the gay couple thing.

There’s a few other businessmen and women; some tall guy with a poker face strong enough to rival Tsukishima’s, and a lady who holds her head high. Good on her. 

He feels a hand on his thigh halfway through the evening; Tsukishima looks up, but sees Kuroo continuing on, smiling kindly. Smug bastard. 

“So, considering that most of the structure is completed…” The man across from them draws an imaginary line with his finger, “…it looks like you’ll only need plumbing and heating on the top few floors.”

“What about interior?” The tall man asks.

“That’s where I come in.” Another grins, “If you give me the budget, I can draw out that modern feel you’re looking for.”

“Suga, you’re fabulous.” Kuroo coos.

“Will it be too similar to the Aria?”

“No, no. The Aria is totally different. We’re going for like, a _futuristic modern._ ”

Tsukishima tunes back out of the conversation – he can see the other tag alongs doing the same. Instead, he focuses on the hand kneading into his thigh. It rests there, warm, the thumb brushing dangerously close to his inseam. Kuroo's fingers are strong, and large, but not quite as slender as Tsukishima's. They're nice, leading up to the muscles of his arms, and under his suit jacket. 

Tsukishima smirks, and elegantly sips his champagne. Two can certainly play at this game.

He slowly, slowly let’s his hand fall, fingers softly crossing between them. His fingers drag across Kuroo’s thigh leisurely. He feels the pull of the suit, soft, stretched across muscle. Tsukishima is slow in his movements, dragging his index finger along the seam of the pants, slowly, up to his crotch. He traces over the button, once, twice, and then feels along the metal zipper.

Tsukishima’s eyes stare out into the casino, watching with apathy, but he can feel Kuroo tense next to him.

The hand on his thigh presses a little harder- Tsukishima decides to take it up a notch. He spreads his fingers and traces down towards the slight bulge between his legs. They’re _just_ in the right seat, away from any wandering eyes.  He feels lower, tracing out the exact outline of his dick, running around it in small, gentle circles until he feels him harden under his fingertips.

The hand on his thigh grips harder. Tsukishima smirks, and sips his drink with his left hand.

“I think it would be b-best-“ Kuroo stutters, but swallows, and clears his throat, “I think it would be best to get a few outside opinions. The floor plans are a little dated.”

Tsukishima watches his face intently, pretending to listen, still cupping him through his suit pants. He grows a little harder; Tsukishima can feel it, so through gentle prodding, he tucks him up, the line of his cock now against the V of his hip, with more room to grow. Kuroo eyes him- Tsukishima feigns innocence.

Damn, he’s really pushing it. This guy could financially destroy him – verbally too, if he wanted – but Tsukishima just feels so damn powerful right now. Ah, what he wouldn’t give to slide on his knees and blow him into the next millennium.

Kuroo retracts his hand from Tsukishima’s thigh; a white flag. Still, Tsukishima gives one last squeeze, just to hear his breath hitch, before pulling his hand back, smug and happy.

* * *

 

Kuroo smiles and shakes hands.

Kuroo slams Tsukishima into the back seat of his car after dinner.

With the windows tinted, back in the corner of the parking structure, Kuroo is free to spread Tsukishima’s thighs and bite his jaw and fuck into him so hard the windows fog.

Tsukishima can hardly hold on- _ohh, that’s what those handles are for-_

He lets go, and go, and go, he moans and sobs so loud, so hard into Kuroo’s shoulder.

It’s some of the best sex Tsukishima has ever had.

He falls further down the rabbit hole.

* * *

 

Tsukishima flips his card; nineteen. The couple at his table cheer, flipping their hand to a twenty. Tsukishima smiles, and sends chips their way, watching as they turn right around and bet more. It’s been a long day – but Tsukishima at least has one thing to look forward to.

Tomorrow, Kuroo is coming over.

_Fuck, since when did I look forward to shit like this?_

He shuffles the cards, and deals in a new game. A queen is his faceup. The players make their bets.

 _Three days._ Tsukishima thinks, with a pit in his stomach, _Three days, and we haven’t even talked about what the hell we’re doing._

Are they dating? Are they just a fling? Tsukishima sure as hell doesn’t know, and he almost doesn’t want to find out. He’d do this forever, if he could. Fine dates, out to fancy restaurants and good shows with good company and fantastic sex. It’s a dream – but dreams end. You wake up. Bubbles pop.

Fairytales end.

“Sir?”

“Excuse me.” Tsukishima nods, and flips his card. A three.

The couple cheers again.

* * *

 There's a moment, here, in the stillness of his bedroom, that he stands shirtless in front of his mirror. The swollen bruises on his lower neck and shoulder are ugly, and round, filled with more blood than ever. 

Tsukishima dips his fingers into one, just to feel the sting. It grounds him, he guesses. He presses again, pale skin against purple and blue; it turns white, and then darker than before, the skin swollen with complaint. Tsukishima sighs; looks across his tired eyes and unkempt hair, and doesn't think about the bruises. Doesn't think about how much he likes them. 

* * *

 

He’s cleaned his apartment, like, twice, but he’s still fucking nervous.

Goddammit. Buck _up._

The doorbell rings. Tsukishima’s heart lodges in his throat.

Why does he care so much? Why does the opinion of some bigshot matter?

Because it’s Kuroo, probably, and for some reason Kuroo’s opinion matters.

He opens the door, and sees Kuroo in a plain pair of ripped jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt. For once he _looks_ his age, hair messy, face relaxed.

“Hola!”

“Hola.”  Tsukishima responds, almost immediately, and steps aside. “Mi casa es su casa.”

Kuroo laughs – grins at the fact that Tsukishima even played along - and steps inside. He toes off his shoes and glances around the apartment; Tsukishima feels like he’s under a spotlight, suddenly.

“It smells good in here.” Kuroo smiles handsomely, “What’s for dinner?”

“Spaghetti and meatballs. Prepare to get fat.”

Kuroo breathes a laugh through his nose, and thumbs at his pockets, peaking around the corner to look at Tsukishima’s small living room. “I can’t wait. I’m seriously starved.”

“Have you noticed that we’re always eating when we’re together?” Tsukishima ponders, as he steps into the kitchen, and finishes up the cooking.

“You know, I didn’t even think about that.”

“I think that says a lot about us as people.”

“Yeah, that food is fucking great.”

That earns a laugh out of Tsukishima; he turns to see Kuroo in the doorway, arms crossed, a smirk on his face.

“You have a nice laugh.”

“Don’t get used to it.” Tsukishima smirks. He lifts the bowl, handing it to Kuroo to set on the small kitchen table. Kuroo takes it with a nod, and disappears into the next room.

Why? Why? Why does this feel so natural? Why does it feel like he’s known him for _months?_

Tsukishima’s heart squeezes. He ignores it again.

* * *

 

“Damn, I’m _so_ stuffed.” Kuroo tips his head back against Tsukishima’s couch and groans.

Tsukishima snorts, “I warned you. I don’t make no bitch-ass pasta. It’s thick noodles, or none at all.”

"Thicc." 

"Shut up." 

Kuroo barks a laugh, tipping his head to the side to drink in the light of Tsukishima’s face. The television flickers ahead of them, low, but audible. This, here, is Tsukishima’s favorite kind of date. The room is cool from the fan that whirs above, and the hot sun has already sunken down past the western mountains.

Kuroo just lays there, hair tussled, body relaxed as if he doesn’t have millions of dollars riding in the stock market, a children’s hospital, a park, half a reality T.V. show and a new casino.

“C’mere.” Kuroo prods, an arm extending out.

“Ask nicely.”

“Aww, please?”

“I dunno’.” Tsukishima teases, eyes flickering back to the T.V. “My ass still hurts from when you fucked the literal life out of me in your Lambo.”

Kuroo snickers, before he sits up, “I’d apologize, but I’m not really all that sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Tsukishima turns, with a smirk, slithering closer, “I liked it.”

Kuroo grins, the sly cat, and grips him by the bicep, dragging him close enough to brush their lips together, soft, before pressing harder. Tsukishima hums – the angle strains his back, just a smidge, so he hooks a leg over Kuroo’s thigh, and straddles his lap in one slide.

Kuroo has a bad habit of smiling while kissing, Tsukishima has noticed, but it’s hard to hate it. Strong fingertips smooth between his shoulder blades, down his spine, and around his ass. Kuroo is an ass man, Tsukishima notes, unfortunately for him. 

"You smell good."

"Don't be weird." Tsukishima kisses back, with a laugh.

"Says you."

"Rude."

Kuroo grins, and kisses him once, twice, three times four times-

Tsukishima brushes his tongue against Kuroo’s lower lip, just because he feels like kissing dirty. Kuroo opens up to him immediately, open mouths pressing together, tongues tracing what they can before pulling back. Their breathing is a little heavy, lips wet, but perfect nonetheless. Tsukishima has never found the wet, slick sounds erotic, until now. 

“Mm.” Tsukishima hums, pulling back, “Can I blow you?”

Kuroo freezes - forces himself to relax, and chuckles. He presses a few kisses below Tsukishima's ear, making him shiver, “Am I supposed to say no to that?”

“I’d cry.” Tsukishima jokes, “I haven’t had a nice dick in my mouth in like, months.”

“I noticed the word _nice_ in there, so I’m assuming there’s a sto _-orry-_ “ Kuroo chokes off as Tsukishima immediately palms between his legs, a little shameless in doing so.

“Yeah.” Tsukishima presses his mouth to the corner of Kuroo’s jaw, and grinds his hips against Kuroo’s, just to relieve some tension. “It was like sucking on a tic tac.”

Kuroo sputters, jolting forwards, almost bonking their heads together. Tsukishima keeps a pokerface, hands smoothing down across his shirt, and down to his belt.

“Unbelievable.”

“I wish I was joking.” Tsukishima huffs. He undoes Kuroo’s pants skillfully, and slides off the couch, onto his knees. “Pants off.”

“Completely?”

“They constrict me, and it’s annoying.”

“Damn.” Kuroo jokes, shedding off his jeans and underwear with a grin, “Whatya’ gonna’ do? Steal my soul through my dick?”

“That’s the goal.”

Tsukishima slides between his thighs, looking up through his eyelashes. He, begrudgingly, takes off his glasses and sets them on the couchside table. Kuroo’s face is a little fuzzy now, but Tsukishima can still see the gloss on his lips, and the look in his eyes, so he’s content.

He takes a moment to gaze across Kuroo’s naked thighs – he hasn’t really gotten the opportunity to yet. They’re strong, and could probably crush his skull if he wanted. That’s a turn on, for whatever reason.

Tsukishima presses his mouth against the muscle, kisses it once for good measure, and then digs his fingers into his outer thighs. Tsukishima gives a tug, sliding Kuroo down a little off the couch, his ass now on the very edge, thighs spread wider. Kuroo is caught off guard; good.

Tsukishima licks his lips once – it’s subconscious, but he can’t help it. Kuroo is full mast against his belly, swollen and red and completely appetizing. He wraps a hand around his base with his left hand, and brings his mouth to kiss across the head. His tongue flicks out, tracing edges, memorizing ridges. Kuroo is silent, but Tsukishima can feel the heat of his eyes.

Now, Tsukishima would just like to take a moment to commend his blowjob skills.

It’s not like the pornos – you don’t just shove a dick down your throat and hope for the best. There is an _art_ to sucking cock, and Tsukishima will gleefully say he’s mastered it. He may not be as great as _Yamaguchi,_ but, still.

Tsukishima closes his mouth over the head and sucks, hand slowly drawing up to meet his lips, and falling down. _Fuck_ , he loves doing this - Kuroo is the perfect size, too. His tongue swirls twice before he pulls back, warming up them both. Tsukishima looks up, hand rising, and falling. He rolls his tongue around in his mouth for a moment, and then lifts his hand, spitting into his palm before working Kuroo's dick over more.

Kuroo is staring at him – Tsukishima can see that without his glasses. His hands are clenched by his sides, politefully so.

“You can pull my hair.” Tsukishima mumbles, lips moving back to suck at the underside of his cock, “I like it.”

“Good to know.” Kuroo breathes out, and lifts a hand to smooth down the back of Tsukishima’s neck.

He’s not sure why he likes it; it’s a little comforting, Tsukishima guesses. It feels more like sex, and less like a favor.

Tsukishima’s free hand runs up and down Kuroo’s left thigh, nails dragging across sensitive skin softly as he takes Kuroo into his mouth and sucks. His right hand is slick now, sliding up as Tsukishima’s head bobs. The hand in his hair tightens – there’s a curse above him, and his cock jerks against his tongue. Fantastic.

It’s all in repetition, when it comes to sex. It’s also in _variety._ Too much of the same thing gets numbing – too many different positions get tiring.

Tsukishima sucks harder, hallowing his cheeks, before sliding his mouth down to meet his fist, eyes closing shut because he _likes it._ His head bobs back up, and then down, drool seeping beyond his control.

He knows he looks obscene. It only works to his advantage. 

“ _Hh, fu-uck._ ” Kuroo grits. The room grows warmer, sparking with tension, simmering with heat. Kuroo grows a little louder. 

Tsukishima hums, and twists his wrist, popping off him with a gasp before using his tongue once more, base to tip, just to lick off the drool. His hand works, and works, a steady motion to keep Kuroo from complaining. Tsukishima takes him down once more, and tries to ignore the throbbing between his own legs.

“Shit.” Kuroo brings a hand to his mouth, “I knew you’d look good like this.”

Tsukishima can’t smile, but he would if he could. His head bobs, drinking in every throb against his tongue. Kuroo tenses, and covers up half-gasps and small moans. He isn’t embarrassingly expressive, but Tsukishima _does_ adore the small noises. They fuel him, making him suck harder, bob faster. He’s not sure how long they stay here, Tsukishima smugly sucking cock like he was born to, Kuroo wiggling beneath his fingertips. It’s a lovely power shift – Tsukishima’s favorite, in his opinion. It makes him hard as fuck, but he’ll deal with that later.

Eventually, his right hand falls down, rolling past Kuroo’s balls, and around the skin there. Kuroo is completely lax beneath him, blissed out, breathing in, entirely trusting in him.

Tsukishima slowly bobs his head down further, to feel his nose press against Kuroo's navel, before pulling back, tongue skilled, drawing heat and noise from Kuroo. It sounds more like a growl, kinda raspy - the kind of sound that vibrates through you- _holy hell_  Kuroo is sexy as all get-out.

So, Tsukishima keeps him occupied as he presses his index finger into the skin between his ass and his balls, just enough to stimulate his perineum. It’s a risky move, but Tsukishima can’t help himself. He wants to watch Kuroo squirm. He wants to see a businessman fall. 

As expected, Kuroo jolts, hips forcing up, the hand in his hair gripping hard enough to bleed. He moans out, long and hard and loud, _“Ahhnn- fuck!”_

Kuroo’s cock nudges against his throat, and Tsukishima blinks away the sting; he slowly pulls his mouth back to lick around the tip of his cock, fingers gently pressing into his perineum again.

Kuroo groans, “Oh, my g _o~d_ if you do that again I’ll fucking come.”

Tsukishima pops back to snicker, looking up through his eyelashes to drink Kuroo in. His face is flushed, all the way down beneath the collar of his shirt. His chest heaves, his eyes swirl with arousal. Damn.

Tsukishima hums, more than content to open his mouth and take him in once more, fingers slowly working their way back up, skimming across his inner thigh, before wrapping around his base in easy flicks of his wrist.

“Why are you so g-good at this?” Kuroo grits, head falling back, “T-this sh-ouuuldn’t be _hnn-_ legal-“

Tsukishima shifts a little on his knees, his eyes indifferent, but internally bursting with pride. He looks up through his eyelashes and bobs his head, meeting Kuroo’s eyes as he palms himself with his left hand.

And that seems to do Kuroo in. He gasps, thighs squeezing dangerously close to Tsukishima’s head, the hand on his hair yanking back.

And uh, initially Tsukishima planned on swallowing, but Kuroo comes with a shout, so Tsukishima rolls with it. He watches his face intently, working Kuroo with his hand through it all. He’s _gorgeous,_ face twisted up in ecstasy.

Kuroo is too caught up to worry about aim – he catches across Tsukishima’s lips, which is fine with him, so long as he doesn’t get cum in his hair.

His body slumps beneath Tsukishima’s fingers, breathing huffy, a hand over his eyes. Tsukishima pauses to get his bearings. Kuroo opens his eyes just in time to watch Tsukishima wipe off his chin with his fingers, and lick it all off.

“ _Fuck.”_ Kuroo closes his eyes again. “Fuck.”

“Mmm.” Tsukishima hums, and adjusts his dick in his jeans before giving Kuroo a pat on the thigh, and handing him his pants. He rises off sore knees to wobble into the bathroom. When he comes back, face  clean, Kuroo is already dressed, limp in the couch.

“Sorry.” He says, as Tsukishima crawls up next to him, “I didn’t mean to catch your face.”

“S’ fine.” Tsukishima mumbles. He prepares to slide a hand down his own pants, but Kuroo catches his wrist, and twists him into the couch with a grin.

“Your turn~.” He sings, pressing a kiss to the wrist caught in his grip.

“Do you even want to?”

“Duh.” Kuroo smiles against his cheek, and kisses it for good measure. “Pants off.”

* * *

 

They fall asleep on the couch afterwards, Tsukishima collapsed in the crook of Kuroo's arm, lulled to sleep by his steady breathing, and the hand that soothes from his shoulder down to his wrist and back.

They should talk.

They don’t.

They sleep instead.

Future problems for a future you.

* * *

 

Kuroo leaves the next morning, early, and on accident. He didn’t _mean_ to stay the night, it just kind of… happened.

Just as Tsukishima is shutting the door, Kuroo places a hand against the frame, saying, “Wait, wait.”

Tsukishima pauses.

“Um…” Kuroo looks to his watch, “I gotta go, but, I’d really like to talk. Do you think you could come by the hotel room tomorrow before I fly out?”

Tsukishima swallows, panic seeping from his chest, down to his toes. His palms sweat – he has the sudden urge to readjust his glasses.

“Yeah.” Tsukishima nods, “Okay.”

“Cool.” Kuroo grins. He reaches across the distance between them, brushes their lips together softly, and slips away.

Tsukishima’s body feels heavy, like lead, even as he shuts the door with a click.

He stares at the frame, right at the chipped paint. Everything hurts. He wants to move, but he can’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ,,,,it begins,,,,


	5. Chapter 5

That anxious, unsettling feeling resides in Tsukishima all day. He goes to work – he smiles; he comes home – he collapses on his bed face first.

It hurts, it hurts.

For once, he’s scared.

He _doesn’t_ want to hear it- he doesn’t want to hear whatever Kuroo has to say. This bubble; this small fantasy; Tsukishima knew it had to pop sometime.

He’d do this forever – innocent dates, good meals, car sex and nice clothes.

But, the more Tsukishima thinks about it, there, in his bed, his pillow clutched to his chest, he realizes that none of that matters. He actually doesn’t care at all about wrestling, and shopping, and fancy cars.

It’s just…Kuroo.

Tsukishima lets out a frustrated breath, and tosses his glasses aside, rubbing away at his eyes.

It hurts, it hurts. He doesn’t want to know the truth.

Kuroo is going to leave. He’ll call Tsukishima to his hotel room and say _these weeks have been nice, but let’s not see each other again._

He’s done it before, hasn’t he? Isn’t that what he said?

There was a _Relationships_ section on Kuroo's Wikipedia page, a place Tsukishima still won’t touch. Tsukishima might just be another name there – he may not even be important enough to make it.

There’s a small chance; a very small part of Tsukishima that thinks maybe…maybe it won’t turn out that way. Maybe they’ll talk. Maybe they’ll become something real.

Fucking hell, that sounds farfetched, even in Tsukishima’s mind.

Tsukishima knew what he was signing up for – to be a _fling._ He got nice dinners and fancy car rides and good sex, in turn, for a cut off. A deadline.

Tomorrow marks two weeks.

Tsukishima folds his cards.

* * *

 

He lays in bed. His shift doesn’t start until eight tonight, so he lays in bed. He lays in bed. He lays in bed.

The clock ticks.

He lays in bed.

Kuroo is waiting for him, across town, up in his hotel room. Kuroo is waiting, and Tsukishima isn’t there.

He lays in bed.

The clock ticks. Tsukishima closes his eyes, and breathes in. Rip it off, like a band aid. Dig your fingers in the wound. Tear out the stitches. Get it over with, get it over with.

His phone buzzes against the table.

Tsukishima ignores it.

It buzzes again – he checks the caller I.D. He sets it back down. 

Kuroo is calling, wondering _where are you?_

But Tsukishima stands him up. It’s better this way – he’d rather cut it off himself, he’s realized, than be rejected face to face. Tsukishima has always been on that end; the side that calls and says _sorry, this isn’t working out._

Another buzz. Tsukishima screws his eyes shut.

One last ring.

Then silence.

Time passes, and Tsukishima checks the clock.

Two p.m.  The time of Kuroo’s flight.

He’s gone, now.

* * *

 

Life does that thing where it continues on, whether or not you’re breaking apart. The world doesn’t care just how much you’re hurting – it doesn’t matter if your dog passed away, or if you’re anxious, or if you haven’t eaten in days.

Life will move on, with, or without you.

Tsukishima picks himself back up. The world spins, as you know.

He goes to work in that dumb vest and button up uniform – he smiles for tourists and plays the game. He flips cards, and collects chips. He breathes in smoke, he hears slot machines ring, he sees strippers slide by.

The world spins on.

He gets a missed phone call from Kuroo the next day; he has some voicemails that Tsukishima _really_ doesn’t want to check. That call is the last, for after that, it’s nothing but silence.

Tsukishima didn’t realize just how quiet his world was without Kuroo. No more restaurants, no more unneeded time on the strip. No shopping trips. No spaghetti dates. 

Tsukishima can’t even call it a break up – they weren’t anything to _begin with._

That might be the hardest part of it all.

But he has to move on. He _has_ to. Life isn’t a fairy tale. The world _will_ spin on.

As Tsukishima is walking out of the Mandalay, he looks up, towards the very top. There, he can see the dark corner room, the penthouse, right at the edge.

He can see the window he was fucked against.

 _God,_ grow up. Grow up Tsukishima. _Grow up._ Move on.

A week passes – when he runs out of cat food, he’s forced to go shopping. The cashier flirts with him; he flirts back just because he can. It isn’t as fun, he notes dully, as he walks out of the grocery store with bags in his hands.

He waits for his heart to stop hurting, like, all the time, but it doesn’t. Tsukishima isn’t the type to grow emotionally attached; he’s dated people for _months_ and hardly ever felt a thing. People are two dimensional. Kuroo shouldn’t be anything special.

For some reason he is.

It’s tearing Tsukishima apart, and he _loathes_ it.

* * *

 

After a week and a half, the hickeys on his throat are gone. They're nothing now, just pale skin left behind. 

Nothing left.

Nothing to show that it was real.

Besides that stupid, stupid business card.

* * *

 

_There’s the sound of a school bell. Birds. Sneakers against floors. Children settling in desks._

_The teacher goes on, teaching easy English, then math. It’s lunchtime soon._

_“Alright, everyone.” She smiles, clasping her dainty hands together, “I want everyone to go around, and tell me what you want to be when you grow up.”_

_There’s shouting – she calms the sea. “One at a time!”_

_“An astronaut!” A kid grins._

_A girl brushes him off, “I want to be a teacher like you, miss.”_

_“A scientist.”_

_“A vet!”_

_Yamaguchi smiles next to him, “I want to be a fireman.”_

_The rotation comes to him. The teacher prods him, “Kei?”_

_“I don’t know.” He answers, with a shrug._

_“You don’t know? Well, what do you think would be fun?”_

_Another shrug._

_“Do you like art? Or music?”_

_“I guess.”_

_“Well…” She looks off, “That’s fine.” She turns to the next student. The rotation continues. Tsukishima looks out the window._

* * *

 

His life is slowly crumbling. Tsukishima can never remember his keys. His hands now shake whenever he passes his couch.

He used to be so strong- he never gave a fuck about anybody else, beside the small few people in his life. He broke hearts. He moved on. That was his _thing._

Except, now, Tsukishima’s heart is broken, and it’s his own fault.

He wants to see Kuroo. He wants, he _yearns._ He can’t tell you why, either.

He gets angry for a few days; he’s not even an angry person to begin with, but he thinks _Fuck Kuroo. Fuck him! Fuck! Him! Fuck him!_

Tsukishima breaks glass, because he thinks it’ll make him feel better.

It only makes him feel worse.

He’s just left there, staring at the shattered cup on his floor, thinking _I’m an idiot. A real idiot._

An idiot for breaking the cup. An idiot for trying to blame Kuroo for something he didn’t even do. An idiot for agreeing to date him in the first place.

* * *

 

_Yamaguchi wasn’t bullied before – at least, from what Tsukishima knew of. Yama always walked with that pep in his step. He always smiled, clear, freckled skin that Tsukishima was envious of._

_In middle school Yamaguchi gets his first bruise. In middle school, Tsukishima gets actually angry._

_Instead he bullies Yamaguchi too – bullies him into telling him why he’s getting bullied in the first place. Yamaguchi is beautiful. Yamaguchi is loved by everyone._

_“I’m gay, alright?” Yamaguchi spits, from the floor, wiping blood off the wound on his cheek. “They found out. Just…leave me alone.”_

_Tsukishima stares, and stares, headphones around his neck, fists clenching and unclenching._

_“I said go away!”_

_“So am I!” Tsukishima screeches, “So don’t fucking brush me off.”_

_“Don’t fuck with me!”_

_“I’m not!” Tsukishima yells back, “I’m gay too!” He turns to the bullies hiding behind the brick wall, “So if you fuck with him, you fuck with me.”_

_They leave Yamaguchi alone._

_That’s the last time Tsukishima yelled._

* * *

 

He goes to a gay bar. He _hates_ gay bars, but he thinks, maybe if he fucks someone else he’ll move on.

It was just _two fucking weeks_ dammit. It’s been _three_ since then, and Tsukishima still can’t sleep at night.

The music pounds on, and on. He sits at his barstool sipping a drink he hardly even likes, scanning for any possible hookups. There’s a few okay ones. Most are subpar.

None steal his breath away.

Tsukishima feels itchy in his shirt. He wants to change back into sweatpants. Still, he stays here, just to get lost in it all. To watch lesbians off in the corner, happy and stupidly adorable. To watch others grind on the dancefloor. It’s distracting.

Halfway through the night, a guy slides up to his side. He’s pretty attractive – undercut, sharp eyes. He’s shorter, but he looks strong. 

“Hey,” He smiles.

“Hello.”

“You look awfully lonely.” He shifts a little, voice speaking above the music. “Can I buy you a drink?”

And that’s how it begins. That’s how it usually does.

* * *

 

_“Kei, you’re being unreasonable.”_

_“Really now?” Tsukishima feigns innocence, and continues to shove things in his bag- random shirts, pants, mismatched socks. He doesn’t care. He won’t stay here._

_“Please.” Akiteru sighs, “I’ve…I’ve changed. I’m different now.”_

_“And what a coincidence that is!” Tsukishima turns, with a plastic smile, hand on his hip, “Your best friend comes out of the closet, and suddenly you’ve had a change of heart. Wow, what a miracle, Akiteru.”_

_His eyes water over, now shorter than his younger brother, but shoulders still squared, “Kei, th-that’s not…that’s not who I am anymore. You have to believe me-“_

_“Really? I have to believe you?” Tsukishima’s tone is flat, but his eyes are fiery, his body tense. “Tell me, then, what was I supposed to believe when I was fifteen? When I trusted in you, and you said-“_

_“Kei!”_

_“-that’s a sin, Kei. You have to repent, Kei. You’re just ill, Kei-“_

_“Stop.” Akiteru begs, “We’re both adults now. Can’t we just discuss this maturely?”_

_Tsukishima stares for one, long, single moment, before he turns back to his bag, and zips it up with a hiss, “People don’t change, Akiteru. You’re living, breathing proof of that.”_

_“And you’re incapable of forgiveness!” Akiteru stands in the doorway, eyes narrowed, “I want us to be a family again-"_

_“Good luck with that.” Tsukishima tires to press past him, but Akiteru’s hand is firm on his chest, strong with authority._

_“You can’t push everyone away. You can’t just keep cutting people out of your life.”_

_Tsukishima sneers, his voice dipping into true emotion, for once, “Watch me.”_

_Akiteru grits,  “You did it to mom, you did it to dad, and you did it to all your friends – but I won’t let you do it to me.”_

_The room goes still._

_Tsukishima pauses; there’s one, long, solitary moment where they stare, and stare, arguing beyond words. Tsukishima’s grip on his backpack tightens, and he sucks in an angry breath, two sets of gold eyes shimmery and glossy.  At the drop of a beat, he brushes past Akiteru’s shoulder – down the hallway, and out the front door._

* * *

 

The angle is hard, but doable. Tsukishima slumps down against his doorframe, and Terushima follows after him, sliding to his knees, right between Tsukishima’s thighs.

Hands, hands, hands. They’re everywhere, overwhelming, almost.

He kisses fast – almost too fast. Tsukishima can feel a tongue ring catch on his lip. He feels a thigh against his own.

It’s all so hurried – it should be familiar territory.

Still, Tsukishima’s heart squeezes.

Their mouths slip and slide together, quick pants, fast rutting. Tsukishima twists beneath him, hands pulling up to tug on hair. It isn’t as soft as Kuroos.

 _Stop._ Tsukishima thinks, with a bite, _Stop thinking of Kuroo. Stop. Stop._

Terushima sucks down across his neck, making marks that Kuroo once did better.

_Stop._

His hands aren’t as long, and calloused as Kuroos.

_Stop._

His lips are slightly chapped-

_Stop!_

His eyes aren’t-

“Wait,” Tsukishima pulls back, air puffing between them. “Wait.”

Terushima stops. He pulls back, and looks Tsukishima in the eye. “Are you okay?”

“No.” Tsukishima rubs up beneath his glasses with his left hand. “I…I can’t.”

“It’s fine.” Terushima blinks, still breathing a little heavy. “If…if you don’t want to…”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He breathes, and blinks away arousal. Terushima stands first, and extends out a hand. 

Nice guy.

Such a shame.

Tsukishima accepts the help. He sends Terushima off with a cup of coffee for the trouble.

* * *

 

_He wakes in the middle of the night._

_The hotel room is a little chilly, but Kuroo’s body heat is warm beside him. Tsukishima stirs; his head aches; he needs a drink. Something warm, preferably._

_Slowly, ever so slowly, he steps out of bed. His feet slide onto the floor, naked, besides his boxer briefs. There’s a robe thrown across a chair. He takes to pulling that on, and slipping towards the kitchen attachment._

_There’s a coffee maker, but Tsukishima can’t really handle the caffeine right now. He’s a little sore, rightfully so._

_He finds hot chocolate in a cupboard; he manages to brew it without too much noise. Slowly, he pours it into a cup, and walks over towards the big, giant windows. Vegas is still awake beneath his feet, cars and people bustling._

_He can see the light off the Luxor; the High Roller spins on._

_He sips his drink to calm his mind._

_“Hey.”_

_Tsukishima blinks, but doesn’t turn. He can see Kuroo’s sleepy reflection in the window._

_“Mm.”_

_“Can’t sleep?”_

_“I get antsy after sex,” Tsukishima admits._

_“Really?” Kuroo mumbles, sliding next to him, a polite distance away._

_“Yeah.” Tsukishima blinks. He looks over to him – Kuroo studies the view just as he does. Tsukishima sighs, and bumps their shoulders together; a subtle sign that it’s okay to touch him._

_Kuroo slides an arm around his waist, hand rubbing against the robe, and pulls him close. “Can I ask why?”_

_“It’s a lot of emotion for me.” Tsukishima speaks slowly, low, under the hush of the moon. “Not that I don’t like it…”_

_“I understand.” Kuroo draws small circles on his hipbones. “You’re cold.”_

_“It’s freezing in here.”_

_“Go back to bed.” Kuroo pulls away, “I’ll grab another blanket.”_

_Tsukishima blinks after him; stares, because who does this guy think he is? Being so polite and kindhearted? How, how, how does someone handle the corruption of wealth so well?_

_He does slide into bed, and Kuroo does slide in after him._

_Kuroo leaves the next morning. Tsukishima goes to work. You know the story._

* * *

 

Yamaguchi tries calling him – Tsukishima really doesn’t want to answer, but he does anyways, because it’s not worth the bitch fit he’ll hear later.

“Hello?” Tsukishima answers, curled up on the floor, his back resting against his bed.

_“Tsukki! I texted you like five times but you never answered me back.”_

“Sorry.”

“ _What’s up? Kuroo left already right? You didn’t keep me updated!”_

 _“_ Yeah.” Tsukishima swallows. “I’m not really in the mood to talk right now-“

“ _Wait why?? You went and talked it out with him right? Did you guys break up?”_

“We were never dating.”

“ _You went on dates! That counts as dating. Why, what did he say?”_

Tsukishima opens his mouth, and closes it. He settles on not answering at all.

“ _You…you guys did talk right?”_

“Look, I’m fucking tired, I’ll see you later-“

“ _Kei, are you serious?? Did you stand him up?”_

Man, _fuck_ Yamaguchi. Fuck Yamaguchi, because he has special Yamaguchi senses that always go off whenever Tsukishima isn’t telling the full truth.

Tsukishima hangs up – he feels bad about it, but he _really_ can’t talk about this right now. He still feels like his heart is in his damn stomach. Tsukishima swallows it down – thinks it’ll pass, if he just ignores it enough.

* * *

 

_Knock knock knock._

A pause.

_Knock knock._

Pause.

_Knockknockknockknockknockknock-_

“What?” Tsukishima throws open the door, and peers into the angry eyes of Yamaguchi.

“You hung up on me!” He sputters, “Who does that?!”

“Me. Go away.”

“No.” Yamaguchi squeezes past him, and into his apartment. “We are talking about this right now.”

“Tadashi. Leave.” Tsukishima growls; he’s not in the mood.

“No, because you’re being a _bitch._ ” Yamaguchi points, shocking Tsukishima out of his grumbly mood. “And as your best friend, it’s always been my job to bring you back down to planet _Notbitch_. Sit down, friend-o pal.”

He gestures to Tsukishima’s kitchen table, where two simple wooden chairs sit.

Tsukishima breathes in. He prays for god to give him strength; strength to not _strangle_ Yamaguchi. He locks the door, and sits down with a huff. Yamaguchi sits down across from him, brown eyes narrowed in determination, shoulder length hair pulled back into a ponytail.

“Alright. Now, tell me. What happened?”

"I..."

"Hm?"

“I… didn’t go see him.” Tsukishima mumbles, “He wanted to talk before he flew out of town and…”

“You panicked.”

“I didn’t _panic._ ”

Yamaguchi raises an eyebrow, and crosses his arms. Tsukishima looks away in secession.

“You ignored his calls too?”

“…Yeah.”

“God.” Yamaguchi sighs, “Why?”

“I didn’t want to hear it.” Tsukishima snaps. “I didn’t want to hear any rehearsed bullshit about how he doesn't want to see me again.”

Yamaguchi swallows, eyes softening a little, back to the eyes Tsukishima knows so well.

“How would you know? What if he wanted to talk about a relationship?”

“And what are the damn chances of that happening?” Tsukishima spits, “He’s gonna’ go off and fuckin’ bang superstars and shit, while I just stay here, in the middle of fuckshit nowhere Nevada, flipping cards for gamblers.”

“Kei…”

Tsukishima looks away, “It wouldn’t make _sense._ He has every reason never to see me again.”

“But how would you _know?!_ ” Yamaguchi presses, “You never talked to him! You didn’t even give him a chance.”

“There was no point to!”

“Listen.” Yamaguchi sits up in the chair, leaning forwards a little to catch Tsukishima’s eyes. “You’ve never been self-conscious a damn day in your life. Why are you starting now?”

“Because this is above me.” Tsukishima waves his hand around, “This is…private jets, and stock holding and building hotels and _penthouse suites._ I don’t belong there.”

Yamaguchi opens his mouth to reply, but he closes it. He breathes in, eyes falling down to the edge of the table. He gathers his words carefully, slowly, hand picking them for Tsukishima to hear.

The taller, in turn, crosses his arms and looks away. He hasn’t cried in years, but he suddenly wants to.

“Tsukki.” Yamaguchi prods, with his nickname. His voice is stern, unlike the soft, joking one Tsukishima hears at two a.m. Tsukishima meets his eyes. Yamaguchi rubs his nose, and shifts in his chair, “I’ve known you my whole life. I’ve watched you just…look at everything so indifferently. You never…you never care much about _anything._ You just,” Yamaguchi waves his hand, “go with the motions.”

Tsukishima narrows his eyes, and opens his mouth, except Yamaguchi continues.

“But with Kuroo you- when I saw you, and you talked about the date you planned you looked…I dunno’, _alive._ You were so interested! Like, I’d never seen you put so much effort into something.”

“I…” Tsukishima looks away, “I wasn’t…”

“Please,” Yamaguchi grips the edge of the table, “for once in your life. _Fight_ for something you want. God, Tsukki. Don’t give this up.”

_Don't push him away._

Tsukishima presses his nails into the palm of his hand, and looks away for good. He doesn’t respond. The clock in his kitchen ticks.

He’s not sure how long they sit in silence, but there is the eventual sound of a chair sliding against hardwood floor. Yamaguchi stands, and sighs, slipping over towards the front door. He unlocks it, waits, and then turns to look at Tsukishima once more, slumped over in the chair.

“You better fix this.” Yamaguchi says, soft, and mumbled. He opens the door, and leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just couldn't resist throwing in some character development lol


	6. Chapter 6

Dammit.

As much as Tsukishima hates to say it, Yamaguchi was right.

Yamaguchi is actually _always_ right, but, he doesn’t need to know that.

He looks to that stupid black business-card,  resting on his kitchen table.

* * *

 

  
He stares at his phone. Tsukishima stares, and stares, looking at the little bubble icon that’s been there for weeks.

He’s so pathetic. Such a  _coward._ Days and days of brooding have led him here.

He breathes in. He summons the courage. He opens his inbox.

Kuroo’s voice immediately floods from his phone.

“ _Hey Kei! It’s Kuroo, I was just wondering if you’re still coming. It’s been like an hour, and I don’t have much time before my flight. Call me!”_

_Fuck._

Tsukishima swallows the knot in his throat. The next voicemail plays.

“ _Hey…it’s me again. Is everything alright? I hope I didn’t tell you the wrong time, or something. My flight leaves in an hour. Please text me, at least.”_

The next plays-

“ _Look, I get it. Please, I just…really want to talk. It can be over the phone, if you want. It’s important. I’m boarding the plane soon, just pick up your phone.”_

Tsukishima reaches to cut it off – he can’t listen anymore – but the last voicemail plays.

_“Kei…I landed in New York. It was nice knowing you. Thanks for everything.”_

Click.

Tsukishima stares after his phone, gut twisting to his knees. His phone goes silent. Tsukishima can’t breathe.

A sudden swell of  _something_ builds in his chest. He hits the call button, and holds the phone to his ear, his heart beating out of his chest.  Is it passion? Courage? Certainly something.

It rings once.

It rings twice.

It rings six times.

It picks up: “ _This is Kuroo Tetsurou.”_

“Tetsurou,” Tsukishima pants, “It’s-“

“ _You’ve reached my personal cellphone number. If you’d like to make an appointment, please contact my personal assistant at 555-424-8138.”_

Oh.

Tsukishima closes his eyes.

“ _At the sound of the tone, please record your message.”_

Tsukishima blinks, and chokes out into the speaker after the beep. “T-Tetsurou. Um, it’s me. Kei. Uhm. Look, I…I need to talk to you. Call me, bye.”

He hangs up, hands shaking. He throws his phone back to his bed, and sheds his clothes, ripping open the curtain to the shower, and turning the water to a scalding heat.

* * *

 

He tries calling back the next day, but there’s no answer again. Tsukishima isn’t all that surprised – he doesn’t blame Kuroo for not wanting to talk to him, like, ever again.

He just… came to the realization that he needs closure. He needs the thing he was hiding from. He needs that verbal rejection. Move on. Spin on. Sew the wound shut. Put that band aid on.

He tries calling all week – he tries the personal assistant, too. No answer. No answer. His assistant tells him to make an appointment. Tsukishima can’t.

This is so  _frustrating._ Why can’t he just move on? Why can’t he let go? It was two weeks – weeks shed by so quickly. This last one Tsukishima can hardly remember.

But those dates – those two weeks – it felt like  _months._ It was wonderful, as time slowed just for them. A true fairy tale – Kuroo, the prince who is hardly a prince at all. Human, despite everything. Tsukishima – he who fell, and fell.

Tsukishima feels lost. He can’t handle this alone. He needs, he needs-

* * *

 

“Akiteru.” Tsukishima swallows, through the phone. “It’s Kei.”

“ _Hey!_ ” Akiteru’s voice pipes up, always so happy, always so eager when Tsukishima calls first. “ _What’s up?”_

“I...” Tsukishima closes his eyes, and breathes in. “I uh...”

“ _Is everything okay?”_

“Yeah.” A pause. “No.”

“ _Do you need me to come over?”_

 _“_ No.” Tsukishima leans back against the armrest of his couch, and fiddles with the fraying hem of his jeans. “I just…need some advice.” He cringes at the words. God, he must be really desperate to do this.

Akiteru sounds a little too excited, “ _Lay it on me, bro.”_

“I fucked that famous dude.”

“ _O-oh. Okay.”_

“Like, multiple times.”

“ _And uh, that’s bad because…”_

 _“_ I stood him up.” Tsukishima explains, “I stood him up because I was scared that I actually liked him? And now he’s gone, and I fucked up real bad, Akiteru. Really fucking bad.”

_I pushed him away._

There’s a long silence on the other end of the phone. Tsukishima hasn’t said that long of a sentence to him in years. Tsukishima considers hanging up and forgetting he ever said anything, but Akiteru speaks up.

“ _I’m coming over.”_

 _“_ Don’t. I look pathetic right now.”

“ _I’ll pick up a pizza.”_

 _“_ Akiteru, it’s a Wednesday night. Your family needs you.”

“ _See you in thirty!”_

The phone clicks, and Tsukishima is left there, sighing into his pillows.

* * *

 

“Hmm.” Akiteru leans his head in his hand, elbow pressed into the top couch cushion, his legs crossed. He doesn’t look like someone in their thirties should; he still looks so young, his posture still like it was ten years ago. He picks another slice of pizza from the box and asks, “Did he say how long he’ll be gone?”

“No.”

“Did he say he’d be back soon?”

“No.”

“Did he-“

“Fuck, Akiteru, he didn’t tell me anything, because I wasn’t  _there._ ” Tsukishima barks.

Akiteru blinks, before he smirks, “How long have you been hanging on that?”

“E-Excuse me?”

Akiteru shrugs, and takes a bite, “This isn’t like you.”

Tsukishima’s face scrunches up in annoyance, and he crosses his arms. Akiteru always makes him feel so small. “I  _know_ it’s not like me. Why else would I call you?”

“You gotta’ forgive yourself some time.” Akiteru says blatantly – a little too harsh. The reality stings, renders Tsukishima nearly speechless even.

“But-“

“Yeah, alright. You messed up. You booted someone out of your life out of habit. Big surprise there, little bro.”

Tsukishima’s eyes widen.  _Goddamn_ has being a father made Akiteru more blunt, or what?

His brother wipes his hands off on his already dirty jeans, and says, “Still, just sitting here whining about it isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

“W-Well, no  _shit._ I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do.”

Akiteru shrugs, “I don’t exactly know either. But I think if you really care about moving on with your life, you need to make a sacrifice or two. Make this right, you know?”

Tsukishima goes quiet. Akiteru gives him a half smile, and a pat on the shoulder, before sliding up to his feet to look for the beer he put in the fridge.  

Tsukishima stares – stares because he never thought a day would come when Akiteru had good advice. A day when he’d support his lifestyle. A day where Tsukishima would call him asking for  _help._

Akiteru returns with the alcohol. Tsukishima pops it open off the edge of the coffee table.

 

* * *

 

Tsukishima ends up on his couch again the next day, lazily scrolling through channels on his small T.V.

His brain feels numb, his feet sore from work. He’s emotionally exhausted. Physically dead. His apartment is growing dusty. He should do laundry.

He continues to scroll through channels instead.

At the struck of dumb luck, he catches a glimpse of Bokuto’s name – Tsukishima sits up off the couch, suddenly interested. He watches Bokuto wrestle some sweaty guy to the ground, the camera trying to keep up.

The crowd cheers; Tsukishima remembers the match here, all those weeks ago.  He watches – finds himself cheering for the guy from his couch.  The camera pans up as the bell rings, and the announcers speak once more.

“ _Yeah Phil, it’s a beautiful Sunday here in Manhattan. Wonderful weather for a match, don’tcha think?”_

_“Absolutely. We even have a few stars here today, don’t we?”_

_“Yes we do!”_

They run through a few celebrities that Tsukishima barely recognizes. Except, suddenly, Tsukishima chokes.

_“-and Bokuto’s sponsor, Tetsurou Kuroo!”_

_“Wow, he looks just as posh as ever.”_

_“It looks like he’s got a beautiful date tonight as well.”_

There he is. There’s Kuroo, black suit, red shirt, an arm around a beautiful girl. He’s smiling, but he’s not  _smiling._ Tsukishima has seen his smile, the one he gives while they’re alone, in the car, or sitting on couches or talking over food. He’s  _seen_ him smile.

Tsukishima’s heart does flip flops, sinking down to his toes, his breath restricted by his own stupid feelings. He’s never felt so many emotions at once; he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He can’t even cry, he’s so confused.

Seeing Kuroo again sparks something beneath his skin. Everything feels hot. Electric.  The camera pans away, but Tsukishima stares still – thinking of the wildness of his hair, and the sharp look in his eyes.

Tsukishima turns off the T.V.

He sits.

The fridge hums.

There’s the sound of a dog barking from the next complex.

A car drives down the street.

Tsukishima is frozen, there, hands on his knees, eyes staring at the small, black screened T.V. His head feels empty. His head feels full. Words float through his state of limbo, echoed, and distant.

_“Sitting here whining about it isn’t going to get you anywhere.”_

_“For once in your life! Fight for something you want!”_

One chip, two. Fold your cards. Draw your hand. 

Bet double.

Tsukishima jolts from his couch, socks sliding against the floor, and skids towards his bedroom. He flops on his bed, snatches his laptop, and flips it open.

He goes to the google search bar, and types  _southwest.com_

Tsukishima’s eyes are narrowed, his glasses glinting off the screen of his computer.

It takes him five minutes to book a flight, six to call into work, ten to pack a bag, and fifteen to drive to the airport.

* * *

 

 

* * *

 

Tsukishima has no idea what he’s doing. He has no idea where he’s  _going._ He’s never been this far from home – he’s never done something so rash, it’s just –

He  _has_ to see Kuroo. He has to. No exceptions.

The cab drops him off at the wrong place; Tsukishima ends up walking three blocks in the wrong direction. He has no hotel – no idea how to navigate this busy city. He only has googlemaps, and pure determination.

New York is busy, people bustling by; Tsukishima doesn’t have much time to drawl on it – he doesn’t have time to gape at the buildings, the  _real_ ones, not the fake miniatures in Vegas.

His feet hurt, his eyes sting, he’s  _starving,_ but-

He thinks of that girl. Pretty, blonde hair. Snuggly in Kuroo’s side. Beautiful gown, sparkly eyes. He thinks of Kuroo, looking at her, arm around her shoulders, moving on, leaving Tsukishima behind –

And suddenly he can walk farther.

He spots the building. It’s tall, and sleek, the name  _Kuroo_ written in large letters.

For one, single moment, the anxiety, the fear, the exhaustion, the hunger – it dissipates. For one, single moment, Tsukishima feels like he’s home.

Then it crashes back.

* * *

 

“Hello?”

Tsukishima stands at the receptionist’s desk. The lobby is clean, the floors sparkly. There’s a few rounded couches off by a coffee table – there’s a wall of elevators opposite them. The receptionist’s desk is a clean circle, lit by a gorgeous chandelier. Elevator music plays.

The lady looks up through her glasses, and nods, “Can I help you?”

“Is Kuroo here?” He asks, antsy as hell. The room is so big, his voice echoes. 

The receptionist blinks; she looks bored with her existence entirely. Tsukishima can relate, honestly, but now is  _not_ the time. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but-“

“Sorry, sir.” She turns to her computer, “Please make an appointment and come back.”

“I-I can’t.” Tsukishima stutters, “I uh, I flew here to-“

“I’m sorry.” She says, “Please come back later.”

“Is he here?” Tsukishima prods, heart in his knees. 

“Yes, but he leaves for a flight this afternoon.”

He’s so close. He’s  _so close._  Kuroo is here. Tsukishima is  _so close-_

“Please.” Tsukishima grips the edge of the counter, and looks her in the eye- he’s never been so forward, but he needs- “Just give me five minutes. I just need to see him. I-“

“He’s a very busy man, sir.” She sighs, “I can’t just let anyone up there. I’m really sorry.”

“We dated back in Vegas.” He stutters out, “And I fucked up. So bad, I fucked up so bad. And…and  _god,_ I, I’ll take the blame from security, please, I…”

Tsukishima doesn’t argue. He doesn’t  _beg._ He usually doesn’t even care, but-

The girl perks up, dark eyes scanning him over. Her eyes light up with recognition, and she looks away with a sigh.

“I guess…I’ll pretend to look the other way. You have five minutes, then I’m calling security.”

Relief flushes from his head, to the soles of his worn out Vans. He gushes out a breath, and grips his backpack, repeating, “Thank you-“

“Hurry.” She shoos, turning back to her computer. “Top floor.”

Tsukishima books it towards the elevators, thanking every god under the sun. He steps inside the elevator impatiently, shaking fingers hitting the number twelve.

The elevator doors slide shut. Tsukishima presses his face into his hands.

What is he doing?  _What is he doing? What, what-_

There’s no time for second thoughts now. He’s here. He’ll see Kuroo. He’ll apologize. He’ll get  _closure._

Still your hands, Tsukishima. Calm your breath.

The elevator doors ding open, and he looks out into the hallway. The walls are all glass, opaque, to act like dividers. His heart smacks against his chest. He slowly, slowly steps out of the elevator. Tsukishima’s sneakers squeak against the newly cleaned floors. It’s completely silent.

The doors close behind him – Tsukishima looks left, then right. He pushes up his glasses and begins walking towards the end of the hallway; he picks up his speed when he hears talking. He passes window after window, glass, and more glass, until he’s at two tall doors.

Kuroo’s voice mumbles behind them;

“ _Yeah. Yeah I know. Six. Yes, I’m bringing them-“_

Tsukishima’s heart thumps, and thumps. He summons everything – every brave action he never took – and pulls open the door.

Kuroo stands there, tall in his suit pants, and white shirt, his back turned. He looks out of his window, a phone up to his ear, his silhouette casting a shadow on the tile.

A gush of breath falls out of Tsukishima’s lungs, and he closes the door behind him. Kuroo turns on his heel, eyes narrowed, body defensive, words probably  _who let you in here?_

But he sees Tsukishima; he meets his eyes, and his mouth falls open. Tsukishima’s palms sweat, but he stares Kuroo straight in the eye, and doesn’t move.

Time stops.

There’s a distant humming coming from Kuroo’s phone. He gapes, and stares, mouth opening, then closing. Finally, Kuroo mumbles into the speaker, “I’ll call you back,” and hangs up.

Tsukishima chews on the inside of his cheek, but stands his ground.

“Kei…?” Kuroo blinks, and sets his phone down on his desk without looking.

“You didn’t answer my calls.” Tsukishima grits, “I came to apologize.”

He probably looks like hell. Jet lagged. Hungry. Completely, and utterly broken, devoid of pride.  

Kuroo’s eyes widen, “You…but you….”

“I’m so sorry.” Tsukishima bleeds, “I am  _so_ sorry.”

“Kei-“

“I really-“

“Don’t.” Kuroo holds up a hand, “I…I’m leaving soon. I um…”

Tsukishima ignores him, and continues, “It was so shitty of me to blow you off, and even  _shittier_ to ignore your calls. I…fuck. I’m so sorry. I acted really selfishly, even for me.”

“Then why did you?” Kuroo asks, his voice low.

“I was scared.” Tsukishima admits, “Fucking horrified, because those two weeks meant  _everything_ to me, and…I was afraid they meant nothing to you.”

Several emotions flicker through Kuroo’s eyes- Tsukishima can’t recognize them all.

“I was crushed.” Kuroo finally says.

Tsukishima blinks back tears- he hasn’t cried yet, and he definitely won’t now. He nods, “I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to forgive me, or anything. I just…I need…I need to move on. I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s ruining me.”

Kuroo pauses. He chooses his words.

“Is that why you came here?” Kuroo grits, more forceful than Tsukishima has ever heard from him, “You came to have me reject you?”

His heart lurches – his thoughts bleed together like paint, mixing beyond his control.

“I don’t know what I came here for.” Tsukishima glares holes into the floor, “I just…I saw you on T.V. I saw you with that girl, and…and everything  _hurt._ I couldn’t- I couldn’t-“

“I moved on.” Kuroo says blatantly. The bandaid rips off.

A pause.

 “I know.” Tsukishima looks away.

“Real life isn’t a fairytale,” Kuroo growls, to Tsukishima’s horror. “I’m not a _prince,_ or a, a _doll._ ” He shifts, “I have _feelings-“_

“I know!” Tsukishima shouts, everything breaking, shattering. The floor falling beneath his feet. Losing control of his life, of everything. He swallows, and repeats, “I know. I just came to apologize. That’s…that’s all.”

“Well, you did.” Kuroo states, and looks away too.

It goes silent. Tsukishima figures his five minutes are up.

He runs his finger along the rough, worn down fabric of his backpack strap. Kuroo isn’t looking at him anymore.

Tsukishima turns to leave. His shoes squeak against the floor, and the door slides open without a sound.

“ _You’ve_ ruined _me_.” Kuroo states, sharp, like a needle.

Tsukishima pauses. Stares, where his pale hands meet glass. His lungs suck in air, but refuse to push it out.

“You flew all the way here.” Kuroo mumbles behind him, probably shaking his head, “You’ve really ruined me.”

Tsukishima turns, “What?”

“I thought we were done, you know?” Kuroo’s voice dips low, away from that growl, back towards what Tsukishima knows. “I thought…like…you never wanted to see me again.”

“I did.” Tsukishima chokes. “I really did.”

“I had to get over you.” Kuroo states, eyes glued to his shoes. His eyebrows push together, voice still strong, “But goddammit, I thought about you _all the time._ I tried _so_ hard, but all I could think about was you-“

And that’s it.

There’s this noise that cuts through the room. It’s foreign, and weird, like a sharp breath, or a hiccup.

But it’s Tsukishima, choking on his own stupid feelings, a hand pushed up underneath his glasses, so Kuroo can’t see him cry.

The door opens behind him. Security, probably, but Kuroo waves them off with a sharp gesture, and the door closes.

The knot in his throat is so large it chokes him. Like cotton, making his mouth run dry, making his tongue stick in his mouth.

“Do you want me to forgive you?” Kuroo asks, as the sun slowly sets behind him.

“I already _told you._ ” Tsukishima’s voice cracks, “I don’t _know._ I just, I don’t-“ his hand grows wet with tears. His body hurts. It’s impossible, for heartbreak to physically harm you, but it _feels_ that way. Like his chest was crushed, his skin maimed. After a pathetic hiccup, he manages a strangled, “I just want you.”

It feels like a house of cards. One built so shakily, with so much care. Each card meaning something.

_Guilt, disgust, insecurity, regret, hatred, jealousy-_

Kuroo steps between them, pries Tsukishima’s hands away from his red eyes and _hugs_ him, hugs him so, so hard and tight that the cards fold, collapse, drift hopelessly to the floor and stay there.

Tsukishima holds on, grips him by the back of the shirt and _holds on._

His mouth apologizes for him, because his brain is just static white noise. The arms around his waist are incredibly firm, and they’re so close that Kuroo can feel his shoulders shake as he swallows back sobs.

“I wish I could hate you.” Kuroo breathes, against his ear, and Tsukishima hiccups out a wet laugh.

Tsukishima’s fingers curl harder into his dress shirt, “I tried to hate you.”

They probably look ridiculous. They’re hundreds of feet in the air, high above New York, hugging in a multi-billion-dollar skyscraper. The sun has snunk away, the sky now a dark purple hue. 

Right. No more fairy tales.  

“Kuroo,” Tsukishima breathes, “your flight.”

Hands splay out against his lower back, and black hair tickles his ear, “I’ll go next week.”

“Kuroo.”

He steps back far enough to look Tsukishima in the eye. “ _Don’t_ start with me.”

Tsukishima feels dizzy and lightheaded, but euphoric, maybe? It’s like, that rush after a pain pill kicks in. Or, when the dentist puts the laughing gas over your mouth.

The rush of emotions make him ache, but his brain slowly flicks back on, eyes looking up to meet Kuroo’s- and _fuck,_ he’s there, he’s right there, after so long.  

Tsukishima wipes his eyes one last time, and mumbles, “What does this mean? For us?”

“I don’t know.” Kuroo answers honestly, and smooths a hand down Tsukishima's waist, where his shirt is bunched at his hip. “But, I think that’s okay.”

“Yeah.” Tsukishima brings his hands up to Kuroo’s cheeks. They’re warm under his palms, his hair slicked back, but slowly curling back into the mess he adores. Tsukishima studies Kuroo, sweeps a thumb over the beauty mark on his neck, and kisses him, repeating, “Yeah. Yeah."

And best of all, Kuroo kisses back. Short, slow, firm and innocent, just like the movies. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

It’s peaceful up here.

After the huge cryfest that was yesterday, Tsukishima is beyond appreciative.

Kuroo’s  _loft_ is probably soundproof, because you can’t hear the cars honking, or the yelling, or the dogs – nothing, up here.

They’re high up above the heart of NYC. Kuroo must have some obsession with windows, because again, they line the walls.

Their forks clatter against plates. Tsukishima feels a foot lightly kick his own.

Kuroo is silent across from him – but it’s not a  _bad_ silence. They talked out everything last night; they curled up on his leather couch and talked until they were rubbed raw.

Tsukishima had mumbled, _What do we do? My job is illegal here._

But Kuroo had kissed his palm, and said _I’ll never make you leave your home._ He’d hesitated, and asked, _But d_ _o you think we’ll last?_

_I think we will._

_Won’t you grow lonely? I take alot of business trips._

Tsukishima had stared at their hands and said _so long as I get to call you mine._

Tsukishima fell asleep on that couch – and woke up to the smell of eggs.

He sighs, and runs a hand through blonde bangs,  “I should book a flight home.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kuroo waves his fork, “I’ll take care of it.

Kuroo is dressed down. A t-shirt, and grey plaid pajama pants. Tsukishima is wearing Kuroo’s shirt, and his own boxers; he forgot to pack anything to sleep in.

Tsukishima sets down his fork and frowns, “No, I wouldn’t feel right.”

Kuroo smirks – still attractive, even while sleepy – “Do you know where my flight was headed yesterday?”

“Uh…no?”

“Vegas.” Kuroo smiles, “I was gonna’ go walk the job site today.”

Tsukishima feels a fresh wave of embarrassment sink to his toes. It must show, because Kuroo laughs, setting down his fork and propping his head up in his hand.

“Awww, you’re pink.”

“Shut up.”

Kuroo laughs more – so free and weightless. He smiles, “No worries. We can fly back tomorrow,” he nudges Tsukishima with his foot beneath the table, “you know, together.”

God, that shouldn’t make Tsukishima feel so happy.

_Together. Together._

Tsukishima didn’t think of himself as a lonely person before. He found solace in peace. He found happiness in silence.

But, Kuroo just  _fits in._ He isn’t exhausting to be around. He’s what Tsukishima needs.

Yeah.

Tsukishima hasn’t replied, but he can feel his face cooling. He adjusts his glasses, and nods, “Alright. Tomorrow, then.”

Kuroo smiles –   _real,_ like what Tsukishima knows. He stands once done with his breakfast, “Brilliant. Take a shower after you’re done. I have so much to show you.”

Tsukishima feels himself smile. The first, in a long time.

* * *

 

New York is a lot nicer, once your heart doesn’t feel like it’s being pushed through the garbage disposal.

Kuroo has a building with his name on it. He has a private jet. He’s invested in countless businesses – he has a hotel being built as we speak-

But Kuroo walks down fifth avenue and points out sights,  _insisting_ that walking is better than anything else. He squeezes Tsukishima’s hand and smiles. Laughs at street performers. Lights up like the strip back home.

There’s something therapeutic about handholding, Tsukishima thinks, because he feels like brand new. He looks down to Kuroo- who’s talking about history or something. Tsukishima breathes in – feels the cooler air fill his chest, and he smiles. The hand in his own is warm, sometimes squeezing when Kuroo is especially excited.

It’s adorable,  _god_ it’s adorable.

They don’t walk far – Kuroo takes him to a hole in the wall coffee place, and they sit in the window sill.

Tsukishima doesn’t say much; he’s actually trying to choke down how goddamn happy he is. It’s odd, to pine after something so hard, only to have it in his hand right now.

Tsukishima can probably describe it as that stupid Bieber tweet-  _so blessed, so moved, so grateful, can’t believe this is my life, never going to take it for granted, always going to give back, thank you –_

Kuroo is looking at him. Tsukishima blinks twice, and thinks  _shit_ he was talking to him, wasn’t he?

“S…Sorry, what?”

Kuroo laughs, and sets down his coffee. “You’re probably super jet lagged. Do you want to head back?”

“No, no,” Tsukishima blinks, “I was just thinking about…uh….”  _Justin Bieber’s twitter. Great job, Kei._

Kuroo rolls his tongue around in his mouth, and then grins, “It’s cool. I can call my driver, and he’ll come pick us up.”

Tsukishima stares at him -really, really stares. It’s past four, the sun now creeping far enough to blind them through the coffee shop windows. It makes Kuroo glow- light bends around the tips of his wily hair, and the tan skin on his neck.

Tsukishima blurts, “How?” like that makes any sense.

Kuroo looks taken back, “W-What?”

“How are you so goddamn nice?” Tsukishima squints.

Kuroo squirms a little in his seat – feels the heat of Tsukishima’s eyes and looks away. He half smiles, “I’m not, really.”

“Yes, you are,” Tsukishima pokes him. “Stop being modest.”

“I’m not!” Kuroo laughs, “I really… I’m a jerk. I walk around with all this money and…there’s just more I could do.”

“You already donate to like, fifteen causes.” Tsukishima rolls his eyes, “You’re an inch short of volunteering at a soup kitchen.”

“ _Exactly._ ”

 Tsukishima scoots closer, just to press their shoulders together, and actually relax. “You’re an alien. I’ll find something awful about you, one day.”

“That’s what I’m scared of,” Kuroo shrugs, “I’m…”

“Human? Yeah.” Tsukishima yawns, “And I’m a huge asshole. Water is also wet, and fire is actually hot.”

Kuroo turns his head to laugh, as not to gain the attention of the shop. Tsukishima feels himself smile- feels his lungs suck in more air – feels  _happy._

He has this. After all that – all the pain, Tsukishima has this.

“Come on,” Kuroo reaches around and squeezes his waist, “Let’s get back, yeah? I could go for a nap.”

And Tsukishima agrees, shamelessly taking his hand, and ignoring any odd looks along the way.

* * *

 

The California King is big enough for Tsukishima to stretch out his legs, and not feel like a sardine.

Kuroo doesn’t question him when he flops on the bed and passes out almost immediately. It’s warm, and Kuroo has blackout curtains, which is fuckin’ awesome. The sightseeing was romantic and cute, but Tsukishima is exhausted from everything,  _everything._  

His brain is slowly piecing itself back together; the nap helps, in all honesty.

Tsukishima wakes up, in what he assumes is, two or three hours later. The curtain has been opened just a smidge, the sky orange and yellow as the sun begins to set.

Tsukishima breathes in – smells the fresh, sanitary smell of sheets and floor cleaner- and flops over.

Kuroo stirs at his side; Tsukishima closes his eyes, and props his hands under his head.

 “Hey…” an arm worms around his waist, and Tsukishima pops open an eye- “Did I wake you?”

“Don’t think so.” Tsukishima slurs, “Time?”

“Eight.”

“Mmm.” Tsukishima closes his eye, and shifts closer. Whatever – he’s too tired to think. Kuroo squeezes him to his chest, and Tsukishima smiles against his bare collarbone. “Where’d your shirt go?”

“It’s hot in here,” Kuroo purrs.

“Then go turn up the A.C.”

“Don’t wanna’.” Kuroo’s voice is soothing, as he asks, “Did you sleep alright?”

“Yeah.”

“You passed out pretty hard. You drooled everywhere.”

“Nice try, but I don’t drool.”

“You also talk in your sleep.  _Ohhh Kuroo, you’re so hot-_ “

Tsukishima opens his eyes and half-laughs, “You’re an asshole.”

“You also said something about murdering someone? I thought that was weird.” Kuroo jokes, his smile blinding.

Tsukishima worms a hand between them, and pinches his cheek, “I’ve  _never_ talked in my sleep.”

“But how would you know?”

“Because, Yamaguchi would have told me.”

“But are you  _sure?”_ Kuroo wiggles his eyebrows – shifts a knee between Tsukishima’s and purrs, “He might’ve been trying to protect your pride. You let out the  _whiniest_ little moans-“

“ _Shut up!_ ” Tsukishima barks a laugh, gripping Kuroo by the shoulders and shoving him onto his back. He props himself up on his hands, staring down at Kuroo with a half-assed glare, “You’re trying to embarrass me, but it’s not going to work.”

Kuroo sings, “Sorry~ but you’re just too cute when you’re embarrassed. I've tasted the fountain of youth, Kei." 

“Don’t get used to it.” Tsukishima mumbles, leaning down close enough for their breath to mix, “It’s rare. Like seeing a unicorn.”

“I’ll just have to work for it then,” Kuroo says, and lightly tips his head, slotting their lips together in the gentlest of kisses.

It’s incredibly soft and lazy. It starts off as a simple press and pull – slow kisses that would put romcoms to shame. Tsukishima gives up on his arms; he chooses to lay on Kuroo’s chest, his arms folded on his sternum, tipping his head just enough to keep kissing.

“Are you hungry?” Kuroo asks, when they pull apart.

“Not particularly.” Tsukishima shrugs. He brings up a hand to push back Kuroo’s bangs. They spring back, much to Tsukishima’s amusement.

“I can have someone come cook us dinner.”

“Well, aren’t you special.”

Kuroo snorts, and worms a hand free to roam up the long expanse of Tsukishima’s back. It feels really good, so Tsukishima closes his eyes, and lets the knuckles roll into tight muscle.

“I think we’ll fly out around noon tomorrow.”

“You think? Or you know?”

“It’s honestly whenever Yaku is free.”

“Who’s Yaku?”

“My pilot.”

“You  _own_ a pilot?”

“Well, not  _really._ ” Kuroo laughs, “He just works for me.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Tsukishima says, and kisses him beneath his jaw.

The little hitch in Kuroo’s breath is incredibly satisfying, so Tsukishima does it again, without merit or purpose. It’s just nice, to feel the soft skin bob as Kuroo swallows – to lick against his adams apple and press his nose into his shoulder.

“You’re awfully cuddly…” Kuroo whispers. The sunlight is slowly, slowly fading, the bright overheads from the hallway becoming their main source of light. Still, Tsukishima can make out the line of his jaw, and the arm that still circles around his back.

“I missed you,” Tsukishima admits.

The chest beneath him rises suddenly, and falls with a strong exhale. The hand on his back trails down, pushing up his shirt just slightly – the cold fingers feel good on his lower back, and Tsukishima hums.

“I’m sorry,” Kuroo says, out of nowhere.

Tsukishima pushes his eyebrows together, even if Kuroo can’t see him – “What for?”

“That all the times we had sex were so…like…” the hand on his back draws a figure eight, “…rushed. I don’t usually…with people I care about…I try to-“

“You’re acting like I didn’t enjoy it.” Tsukishima snarks, “It was actually some of the best sex I’ve had in my life, so, you can go right ahead and shut the fuck up.”

Kuroo’s body shakes with laughter – enough so that Tsukishima has to sit back up on his arms and look him in the eye.

“Ahah,” Kuroo rubs his face, “I’m glad.”

“I actually fell for your dick, more than you,” Tsukishima jokes.

“Oh really?” Kuroo smirks, and the hand pushes up his shirt to trace between his shoulder blades, “That’s good then. I only fell for your tongue.”

Tsukishima’s eyes glint with mischief- he leans down close enough to breathe, “Then take it.”

And Kuroo does – that hand finally winding up in his hair, tipping Tsukishima into kissing him long and breathless. It’s still lazy, but definitely hotter. There’s no agenda- nowhere to go but up.

The opened mouthed kisses are sloppy and wet, tongues tracing the other, breath gushing out of their noses. It’s still relatively innocent – just sappier, a little less structured. It makes Tsukishima feel weightless – makes his toes curl and his gut twist.

Kuroo shoves his tongue far into his mouth, and Tsukishima lets out a surprised moan. His tongue pulls back, only to let Kuroo smile against his lips.

“You taste like coffee,” Kuroo kisses.

“A real Sherlock Holmes, you are.”

Kuroo lets out a seamless line of giggles, tightening his grip in Tsukishima’s hair, “Wow, you don’t wait very long for the teasing, do you?”

“Sorry.” Tsukishima says seriously, “I’ll stop-“

“I  _adore_ it.” Kuroo grins, and wiggles up a little, just enough to flick on the lamp behind him. The room fills with yellow light, and Tsukishima blinks away the spots.

Kuroo looks fucking gorgeous beneath him. His lips are slightly swollen, pupils dilated, hair a mess against the pillows. He looks like a model. Like something out of an editorial.

So Tsukishima can’t be held responsible for his actions, when he hooks a leg over Kuroo’s hip and kisses him again, wetter, hotter, stronger. Kuroo’s breathy little half moans are musical, and Tsukishima chases them like a waterfall.

With the quickened breathing, and the softly illuminated room, Tsukishima feels himself finally let go. Let go of  _everything._ All that self-resentment and grudges – all the gross sickly insecurities. He just….lets go.

So when Kuroo’s left hand traces around his hipbone, Tsukishima pants into his mouth, whines, even, when teeth graze his bottom lip, and pull.

“I’m going to take my time with you.” Kuroo says, “Count every mole with my tongue.”

Tsukishima’s body involuntarily shivers. He grinds a little closer, his lower lip sliding against Kuroo’s with shameless abandon.

He’s never had that – he’s never  _let_ anyone. Tsukishima is a prickly little bastard – it’s typically  _fuck me and leave-_ not,  _make sweet sweet sugary love and stay._

It’s unexplored territory from here. There’s something nice about that.

His arms are growing weak – Kuroo can feel it. He’s shaking a little, hips softly grinding into Kuroo’s leg. Tsukishima is half hard, and he’s not going to bother hiding it.

“Get on with it then,” Tsukishima whispers, and Kuroo does.

* * *

 

It’s intoxicating. There’s no other word for it.

His shirt is hiked up to his sternum – his pants are gone, wadded up on the floor, his boxers with them.

Kuroo takes his sweet time; there’s a kiss at the inside of his right knee, where its hiked up high enough for Kuroo to press another, then one more-

Tsukishima breathes out hot air; he feels like jelly, the hand on his left leg smoothing up and down his thigh.

Kuroo leans down and kisses right above his knee – then higher, at his mid-thigh. There’s a few beauty marks there – Kuroo licks from one, to the other, like he’s connecting the dots.

Tsukishima can’t reach his hair from here; he has nothing to hold onto, other than the sheets.

So he talks, because he can. Because no one can hear him up here. Because everything has built in his throat, and overflowed like a damn.

“God,” Tsukishima turns his head, “you’re unreal.”

He says it because it's true. Kuroo looks ethereal, shamelessly naked, kneeling between his thighs.

“I’m unreal?” Kuroo nips at his thigh, and Tsukishima shivers- “You’re unearthly. So soft.” He bites again, for emphasis. "Your legs are so fuckin' long."

“After you left-“ Tsukishima shifts a little, reaching down to push his erection away from Kuroo’s face, “- I hhh- tried hooking up with this g-guy.”

“Mmm, and?”

“I just kept comparing everything to you,” he says, without shame. “I want to own you, Tetsurou.”

Kuroo practically purrs against his thigh, moving up to kiss into the valley of his hipbone, “That’s hot.”

“I don’t mean it to be.” He shifts – bends and melts when Kuroo nips the slight squish on his hip. “Ah, I’m just, a jealous person-“

“Good.” Kuroo decides, “Because I am too.” He digs his teeth into Tsukishima’s hip, and sucks – the area burning hot. Tsukishima grinds his teeth and digs his heel into the sheets, hissing through the sting. Kuroo sucks- kisses – licks until he’s bored, and moves on. Each slow bite makes Tsukishima’s head reel – makes him dizzy and hot.

He tries to be patient, but he settles on tangling his right hand in Kuroo’s hair, and keeping it there.

The tongue licks up his sternum- fingers trail around his ass, soft and gentle, as Kuroo kneels between his thighs.

“You’re-“ Tsukishima sweats, “-killing hhah- me here.”

Kuroo smiles against his collarbone, and sucks a nasty bruise there, “Can you reach the top drawer over there?”

“Probably,” Tsukishima says, without trying. Kuroo looks up through his eyelashes, and grinds his own hot dick against Tsukishima’s. The latter jolts, mouth opening and a half-groan falling out. He scrambles for the top drawer, and Kuroo laughs into his shoulder.

His arm strains, and he pats around for the bottle – there’s a few condoms, and Tsukishima grabs one of those too. He chucks both at Kuroo, who sits up on his knees with purpose.

“One or two?”

“One.” Tsukishima answers, spreading his thighs and lazily reaching up above his head to take off his shirt completely.

From Kuroo’s perspective, he’s a princess- blonde hair a mess, glasses gone, skin flawless and soft under the yellow light.

Kuroo looks at him and smiles, warming the lube between his fingers, and shifting close enough to kiss him again. Tsukishima helps him, bending his back, kissing hard and sucking in air when a finger wiggles in.

“God, that’s cold.”

“Sorry.” Kuroo murmurs, and licks into his mouth.

His fingers are cold, but the room grows warmer. It’s incredibly intimate – quiet, and soft, but scorching with heat. Tsukishima is fucking hard as hell; he keeps poking Kuroo in the hip – but Kuroo doesn’t complain, just moves his finger, coaxing Tsukishima open like a master.

And Tsukishima opens for him; he’s never been so relaxed, here, under Kuroo’s bodyweight. There’s a second finger, then a third- Tsukishima squirms and gasps. His gut tightens, his dick throbs. Kuroo’s breathing quickens when Tsukishima grinds up against him, trying to prod Kuroo into making some noise.

“Talk,” Tsukishima grinds. Kuroo’s fingers scissor, and Tsukishima moans deep down in his throat.

Kuroo inhales – leans back and thrusts his fingers in harder, prodding around until Tsukishima’s body fucking  _jolts._

“Shit.” Kuroo swallows, tongue dry, “Normally I can, but you’ve got me fucking speechless.”

Tsukishima gives a short laugh, and squeezes his eyes shut when Kuroo drills back into his prostate, “ _Fuuuck- f- hah-“_

“You’re beautiful,” fingers curl, “soft,” they scissor, “you open up like a vice. Do you have any idea how hot that is?”

The sting slowly ebbs away. It just feels good,  _good good-_ fuck, Kuroo is talented with his hands. One trails up and down his knee – the other pries him open and controls him like a puppet.

“I want to do so many things to you,” Kuroo speaks low, and raspy, “I want you to do so much to  _me._ ” He shifts one of Tsukishima’s legs over his shoulder, giving him better access to thrust his fingers. Tsukishima, at that moment, nearly has a goddamn heart attack, from the amount of blood rushing south. Oh god, oh god- he was holding up okay before, but-

“Would you like that?” Kuroo mumbles against his knee, “To fuck me? You know I’d let you.”

“ _Fuck,”_ Tsukishima grits- his cock gives a pathetic jump against his hip, “Tetsurou, I’m-“

Kuroo’s fingers pull out, trace around his hole and thrust back in, squishing with lube, setting Tsukishima aflame. “I’ll eat you alive, Kei. I’ll do it in front of the world.”

“I’m good!”  Tsukishima reaches down to slap his leg, “I’m g-“

Kuroo grinds his cock into the junction of his thigh, and curls all three fingers into Tsukishima’s prostate- and Tsukishima loses it. The heat in his gut springs free, his entire body arching up in a shout, hips rising off the bedsheets. His eyes squeeze shut, and the moans are revved from his throat – he comes so hard it  _hurts,_ painting across his chest, and the sheets, probably.

Kuroo is saying something – he’s slowly pulling his fingers out, soothingly rubbing from his knee, to his thigh.

Tsukishima blinks, chest rising, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead.

“Sorry,” Kuroo mumbles.

“You are  _not-_ “ Tsukishima shivers, from an aftershock, “-s-sorry, hah, you did that on p-purpose.”

“You’re right.” Kuroo smiles, dropping the thigh off his shoulder, and wiggling up enough to kiss the flushed color on his cheeks, “I did do it on purpose. I’ve never actually seen your face as you come, you know.”

“W-what?”

“You,” Kuroo kisses the corner of his mouth, “always tried to hide it from me.”

“A subconscious thing, I’m sure.” Tsukishima breathes, and tilts his head a little to kiss him back.

Kuroo smiles, wiggles his hips, and grinds his dick into Tsukishima’s navel.

“Mm,” Tsukishima breaks the kiss, “Roll over.”

* * *

 

Time becomes useless here. Tsukishima takes to laying on top of him, Kuroo buried up his ass – and they stay like that, rocking back and forth. Kuroo’s hips thrust up slow, and patient, and occasionally Tsukishima thrusts down against him.

It’s infuriating. It’s therapeutic.

They kiss sometimes. Occasionally Tsukishima will rest his head on his shoulder, and stay there, just to feel full. Kuroo doesn’t rush him – doesn’t bother asking for more, even though Tsukishima is  _sure_ his balls probably ache like hell.

But when Kuroo gets close, his breathing goes erratic. They still fuck slow – slow until Kuroo begs, whining, biting,  _Kei please, fuck, please, I’m I’m-_

So Tsukishima nips his neck, grinds his hips, rolls down on him and squeezes until Kuroo lets out a low, horribly attractive noise, and  _throbs_ in his ass. Tsukishima thinks, for a moment, that he wishes they forgot a condom. He wants to feel it – feel it tomorrow, feel it next year; but instead he watches Kuroo’s face – drags his nails around his ears, kisses his jaw and stays there, until he’s ready to go again.

He’s not sure what time it is – he’s not really hungry either. There’s just, no pressure. Nothing to worry about, until tomorrow.

And that’s the beauty of it all.

* * *

 

The doorbell rings.

There’s the sound of a truck, and metal. Something loud, and something louder.

“Woah woah woah!” Yamaguchi flings open the door, and stutters, “What the hell?  _What the hell?”_

There’s at least three men, all dressed in beige UPS uniforms, moving boxes onto his front doorstep. They’re relatively big, and they’re stacked three high.

A man approaches him – he looks exhausted with his existence entirely, and Yamaguchi can relate on more than one level.

“What is this?!” Yamaguchi looks around. More boxes come out of the truck – more, then  _more-_

“Sign here please,” the guy deadpans.

“Yo,” Yamaguchi peeps around him, “I didn’t order any of this shit.”

“Sign please,” the guy repeats. He hands him an envelope too, “For you.”

Yamaguchi blinks down at the notepad. He draws half a squiggle, and gives the clipboard back, ripping open the envelope that says his name.

He reads as the men continue to stack boxes, and boxes, and more boxes. 

_Mr Yamaguchi~_

_I heard you were the one who kinda’ kicked Kei’s butt into gear, so, I think I owe you one._

_Enjoy!_

_-T_

Alright. What kind of fuckin’ princess diaries da vinci code ass bullshit is this?

Yamaguchi takes his nails and tears a line through the tape on one of the boxes. It pops open with a few tugs – some packing peanuts pop out.

And…it’s full of food.

Yamaguchi jolts back, as if burned.

Mac and cheese. Canned vegetables. Frozen meat. Boxes of cereal.

Yamaguchi stares. He stands there, until his brain puts two and two together.

Then he laughs, and laughs and  _laughs –_ he throws a hand over his mouth and giggles, even as the moving men drive away.

Then, he cries.

* * *

 

 As you know, the world spins on. Time turns, and slips between your fingers. Things change.

Their home is a beautiful one. Kuroo wanted something larger – but Tsukishima argued for a townhome.

They settle on the west side of town. The commute to work is half an hour, but worth the drive. Three bedrooms, three baths, a half-acre backyard and an in ground pool.

But there’s something homey about it. Probably the picture frames – the simple decorations – the silly things Kuroo brings back from work trips.

Tsukishima could technically retire, if he wanted; live off the fine wealth of his boyfriend, sipping champagne and sunbathing on Cancun.

And, I mean, in a sense he _does._ Kuroo sweeps him up. Takes him around the world. Shows him Brazil and Italy, Dubai and Mexico _._

But Tsukishima comes home, to their suburban community, and the silly garden gnome that sits on their front lawn.

He enjoys working anyways; it’s a mundane job - flipping cards for drunks - but Tsukishima gets his life in order. Stops working nightshifts. Starts living right. Kuroo makes a home out of Vegas, working on the Fontainebleau more often than not.  

It’s their one-year anniversary when Tsukishima sits at home by himself. He’s in fuzzy pajama pants- hair slightly damp, the T.V. playing something stupid. They got a pet turtle named Dog last week. He sits in his aquarium, occasionally rustling the leaves.

Tsukishima picks a cherry out of the bowl in his lap, and sighs.

One whole year, huh? 365 days since his stupid impromptu New York trip.

A lot has changed. Good change.

The couple on T.V. kisses, and Tsukishima pops another cherry in his mouth. The silence of their home is fine, albeit better with Kuroo here, but fine nonetheless.

 He’s not mad about Kuroo being gone. He’s off doing something more important, for sure. _We’ll celebrate next week,_ they’d decided.

Communication is great.

The doorbell rings.

Tsukishima scrunches his eyebrows, and doesn’t move. The doorbell rings again – Tsukishima slowly sits up off the couch, and waddles to the door. It’s like, ten p.m.

He opens the door, and sighs, “Goddammit, Tadashi-“

But Kuroo stands there, hands in his pockets, that dumb stupid smirk on his face.

Tsukishima freezes. He blinks once, twice, and manages a “wha?”

Kuroo laughs, “Hey.”

Tsukishima is too happy to hide his smile – he naturally steps out the door, leaning down to sling his arms around Kuroo’s shoulders. “What the hell?! You’re supposed to be in Austin right now.”

“I know,” Kuroo says, and winds his arms around his back. “But, I was sittin’ there, and I was like man…I can’t miss our one year.”

Tsukishima’s feels weightless – dammit, Kuroo is going to give him heart palpitations one day. Kuroo squeezes hard around his waist and dips down, picking him up effortlessly, and walking inside the house.

Tsukishima laughs in surprise, hands gripping his hair, and his shoulder, “Tetsurou!”

“Happy anniversary!” Kuroo beams, kicking the door shut, and refusing to put him down.

“Happy anniversary,” Tsukishima parrots back, with a disgusting amount of fondness. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I got you a present,” Kuroo walks them to the couch, sitting down with Tsukishima still tall and gangly in his arms. “Check my front pocket.”

Tsukishima raises a thin eyebrow. He looks to the front pocket of his white dress shirt, and slowly dips his fingers inside.

He pulls out a long chain; it’s a silvery necklace with…the state of Texas on the chain.

“Wow,” Tsukishima holds it up, “how’d you know I always wanted this?”

Kuroo breaks out laughing, “Ahaha, I know you _so_ well.”

“You do.”

“I got you something else though,” Kuroo laughs, “coat pocket.”

Tsukishima reaches in- and pulls out Broadway tickets. Phantom of the Opera, in New York.

“We’re going back to New York?” Tsukishima lights up, holding the tickets up in the dim light.

“Yep! Those are some good seats, baby.”

“I love you,” Tsukishima sets down the paper and kisses him, innocent little ones, that Kuroo purrs into.

“I love you!”

“I got you something too,” Tsukishima kisses, slowing the movement of their lips, until it’s soft and gentle.

“Mm! Really?”

“Yep,” Tsukishima lowers his voice, “but you’ll have to peel it off me.”

And suddenly he’s gone, running to the bedroom – Kuroo laughing and jumping over the back of the couch to chase him down.

* * *

 

It’d be nice to sum this up with a happy ending. Cliché and sweet, like fairy tales do.

But this isn’t a _fairy tale,_ remember? It’s the story of two lives. Two people.

I can only tell you the facts; that Tsukishima found more happiness in Kuroo, than in anyone else. That he learned to smile more- learned how to take care of a turtle- how he went back to college, and learned something new.

I can tell you how he made friends through Kuroo – learned that Bokuto is a big squishy teddy bear, and that his boyfriend is scarier than any wrestler out there.

I can tell you how Tsukishima saw the world, one plane ride at a time.

But I won’t tell you how Kuroo proposed atop the Stratosphere, where they had that first dinner.

I won’t tell you how hard Tsukishima had cried.

I won’t tell you about all the places they move to. I won’t tell you about the kids they call their own, and I won’t tell you about the life they carve along the way.

That’s their story to tell.

  _Their_ deck of cards to fold.  

And that’s the beautiful part, isn’t it? When the game is all said and done, the chips gone, money thin, you draw a new hand.

So together, they do.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks guys for sticking with me ;;u; ,, all the comments kept me going tbh, you're all fantastic, ty
> 
> edit: fyi, if you're interested, you can commission me [here](http://zanimez.tumblr.com/commissions)

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://zanimez.tumblr.com/) :))


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